


Wood for the Trees

by FloreatCastellum



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drunk Sex, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter Next Generation, Mutual Pining, Next Generation, Office Party, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Smart people too dumb to realise they are in love, Smut, just kiss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:21:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 105,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21848851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloreatCastellum/pseuds/FloreatCastellum
Summary: James Sirius Potter's hobbies include annoying people, leading his father to an early grave with his career choice, and managing to fall in love at the drop of a pointy hat, inevitably ending in heartbreak. Hazel's hobbies include trying to be professional, getting wound up by James, and consistently managing to end up in awkward situations.Following popular demand on Tumblr, a nonlinear account of James Sirius Potter's realisation of true love. Spoilers for In Mendax/Theia Higglesworth Trilogy, but can be read independently of that series.
Relationships: James Sirius Potter/Original Character(s)
Comments: 769
Kudos: 750





	1. The Morning After

She felt dizzy from the moment she woke up, slung over the bed as though she had fallen into it, which she had, in a way. She felt uncommonly hot, and she found herself blinking down at her own bra, that lay on a carpet unfamiliar to her. She frowned at it. 

With great effort, because she really did feel as though she were going to throw up, she rolled over and found herself looking at the back of a dark head. She blinked stupidly. 

The memories came rushing. Lips and heavy breathing and grasping hands and giggles and being rolled over in bed and gasps and amazed thoughts of, ‘well I didn’t expect _that_ from _him_.’ 

But no, they couldn’t be real. They were ridiculous. They couldn’t be… 

She sat up, the thick, pillowy duvet bunching between them as she peered over the man’s shoulder. Her stomach plummeted. She knew that face. Irritating and handsome and expressive, all dark hair and straight eyebrows with warm eyes and a large striking grin.

‘Oh my god,’ she mouthed to herself, briefly burying her face in her hands. Cringing, and wondering what on earth this meant for her career (she supposed she must find a new one now), she silently shifted back to her side of the bed, and sat on the edge. Her head was pounding. Her queasiness felt worse when she leant down to pick up her bra. 

It was as she was pulling on her dress that there was movement. She glanced uneasily over her shoulder. She didn’t want to look at him completely. 

‘Er… hi,’ mumbled James. 

‘Hello,’ she muttered back. 

‘Erm…’ he sat up, running his hand through his rumpled hair as he looked down at his knees. ‘Wow, so, er-’

‘I should go,’ she said quickly. 

‘Right, yeah…’ 

She zipped up her dress, and stood, grabbing her heels. 

‘Erm, my parents are probably downstairs,’ he said, glancing at the clock on his bedside table. 

She gaped at him, horrified. ‘This is your parents’ house?’ she hissed at him. 

He at least had the decency to look embarrassed. ‘Yeah…’ 

She closed her eyes, trying to find the right words to say. ‘Oh my God, everything about you is so immature,’ she whispered. He blushed, and she briefly wondered if that had been a low blow - she remembered now, a few months ago, him complaining that now he had been dumped again he’d have to find somewhere else to live. She supposed that rather than live alone, he’d gone back to Mum and Dad. ‘How do I get out without them seeing?’ she asked. 

He shrugged helplessly. ‘Hope that they’re not up yet? Go quietly? The front door is at the bottom of the furthest stairs - don’t take the ones outside this room because they go down into the living room.’

‘Right,’ she whispered, nodding. She glanced awkwardly at him. ‘This doesn’t have to be… We can just forget about it.’ 

He tried for a cocky grin, but she saw his shoulders sink a little. ‘I thought it was pretty good,’ he said. ‘Not sure I want to forget.’ 

She stared at him for a moment, and then swallowed. ‘We’ll discuss this when I’m not hungover,’ she said eventually. She turned, then sighed a heavy, shuddering breath, and turned back to him. ‘I can’t believe I’m expected to sneak past Harry Potter,’ she said. ‘Can I at least borrow your cloak?’ 

He grimaced. ‘I really would say yes, but I left it at the office.’ 

‘Fucks sake,’ she hissed at him. ‘Fine.’

‘Bye,’ he said quietly, as she slipped out of the door. 

***

Ginny hadn’t woken when Harry had crept into bed beside her last night, and the alcohol and slight ringing in his ears from the music had knocked him out for the count right the way through to morning, so that when he woke it was to an empty space where she usually lay. 

Yawning and shoving his glasses on clumsily, he plodded downstairs in just a shirt and boxers, finding Ginny already at the kitchen table in her dressing gown, munching on her toast with the newspaper and a glass of orange juice in front of her. 

‘Morning,’ he yawned. 

‘How was the Christmas party?’ she asked. 

‘Oh, you know, the usual - I left as soon as people started to get a bit drunk to save them the embarrassment of their boss seeing them like that.’ 

‘You’re a good boy,’ Ginny said, waving her wand as he sat. A plate of toast and a jar of jam floated over to him. She eyed him carefully as he wrestled off the lid of the jar. ‘And how was our son?’ 

He raised his eyebrows at her and sighed. ‘Fairly tipsy,’ he said. ‘As I was leaving, he and his friends were saying they were going to go to a Muggle club.’ 

‘Mmm,’ said Ginny wryly. ‘Yes, I think he might have done. Came back at half three.’ 

He tutted. ‘I told him to remember it was a work event.’ 

‘I think he brought someone home with him,’ said Ginny delicately.

Harry winced. ‘Oh, good grief, really?’ 

‘I definitely heard a woman giggling when he got in - thankfully I think there was a silencing charm on the door.’ 

‘D’you reckon she could be a Muggle?’ He looked around their kitchen. ‘We’ll need to hide a few things. Or-’ he winced again. ‘Oh, he’s been flirting with that Law Enforcement Patrol witch lately, it’s been unbearable.’ 

Ginny frowned. ‘He swore he wouldn’t go with anyone connected to work again, not after that researcher-’

‘The LEP is on the other side of the building, though,’ Harry pointed out. ‘He’s not forced to work with them quite as much. Though…’ he sighed heavily once again. ‘If he’s apparated some tipsy Muggle girl here, that’s going to be a fiasco to sort out with the Muggle Liaison Office.’

Ginny snorted. ‘That’ll teach him a lesson, won’t it? Explaining to his grandad why he had to break the statute of secrecy to someone he’s known for a few hours.’

Harry shrugged. ‘She might be all right with it all.’ 

‘Yes, but I don’t think a muggle club is the start of a blossoming romance, is it? We’ll have to end up doing a memory charm eventually, and what a nightmare that will be.’ 

‘Well, as he reminds us often - we’re very old now, Ginny. It might be-’ Harry broke off at the sound of a creak from the base of the stairs. Both he and Ginny automatically looked through the doorway to the hall. 

The young woman was frozen there, her face scrunched up in an embarrassed grimace, holding her strappy black heels in one hand and a glitter clutch in the other. She was wearing a sequined golden dress, which looked ridiculous at half past eight in the morning. 

‘Hello, Hazel,’ said Harry. 

‘Hi, boss,’ she whispered, staring, mortified at the floor. Then, with the terrible, aching silence laughing around them, she continued softly along the creaking floor to the front door, treading as lightly as though they still hadn’t spotted her. 

Harry turned slowly back to Ginny, still holding his toast in his hand. 

‘How awkward is it?’ Ginny asked. 

‘They share a desk.’ He bit back a smile. ‘I’m conducting her appraisal in the new year.’ 

‘Well,’ said Ginny briskly. ‘Let’s hope it works out then, shall we?’


	2. First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Major spoilers for In Mendax/Theia Higglesworth series. Proceed at own risk or wait for me to finally finish that sodding story.

‘Well, you look too young to be Auror Hodges.’ 

Hazel turned to see a young man, a boy, really, stood in the doorway of the cubicle, holding a sheet of parchment in one hand and a box under his arm. He was clearly one of the new trainees - his scarlet robes did not yet have threads of gold on the shoulders. He was dark-haired and tall, with a scattering of brown freckles across his face and a remarkably relaxed stance for someone who had marched into the wrong cubicle on their first day. 

‘I’m not Auror Hodges,’ said Hazel. ‘She’s been called into a meeting. Who’s asking for her?’ 

‘Me,’ he said promptly.

She sighed. ‘Yes, obviously, but who are you? Who’s sent you to find her?’ 

He frowned slightly. ‘You’re about my age, why don’t I remember you from school?’ 

‘Knew everyone, did you?’ she asked dryly. 

He nodded slowly, as though considering. ‘Yeah, pretty much,’ he said. ‘But I don’t know who you are at all.’ 

‘Well, you wouldn’t - I assume you went to Hogwarts. I went to Beauxbatons.’ 

‘Why? You sound English,’ he said. 

She thought this was a highly personal question to ask, so she ignored it. ‘Why do you need to see Auror Hodges? Who’s your mentor, did they send you?’ 

‘Er… Auror Hodges is my mentor,’ he said, looking down at his parchment. ‘This is my assigned cubicle.’ 

‘No it’s not,’ she said abruptly. ‘Auror Hodges is my mentor, and this is my cubicle.’ 

‘Is that not my desk then?’ he asked, pointing at the other desk and chair squeezed awkwardly into the cube. 

‘No, that’s hers for when she’s not in her office and needs to be working closely with me,’ said Hazel. 

‘Well maybe it’s mine now,’ he replied. ‘That’s what it says on my induction sheet.’

‘There’s probably been some sort of mix up,’ she said. ‘Auror Potter assigns the trainees with mentors and stuff, but apparently some of the other people in the senior leadership team have been doing loads of the recruitment stuff this year. It’s probably got confused.’ 

‘Why?’ the boy asked. He was like a toddler. 

‘I don’t know, it’s all confidential, isn’t it?’ she said, feeling more than a little irritated. She turned back to her file. ‘Either way, it’s probably just a mistake.’ 

‘D’you reckon he forgot you exist?’ said the boy.

Her jaw dropped and she slowly turned back to see him swaggering lazily into the cubicle and sitting in Auror Hodges’ chair. ‘Excuse me?’ was all she could think to say in the face of this astonishing rudeness. 

‘Well,’ said the boy, carelessly putting his box of things on the floor, ‘if he assigned me to someone who already has a trainee, that would suggest he forgot about you, wouldn’t it?’ 

‘No,’ she snapped. ‘It’s just a mistake. He probably just pulls names out of a hat.’ 

‘I don’t reckon so,’ said the boy easily. ‘Maybe he’s moving you to a different mentor to place me with Auror Hodges.’ 

‘Why on earth would he do that?’ she asked testily. ‘I’ve been working with Auror Hodges for a year. You’ve been assigned the wrong person, I’m sure it will be cleared up easily and you’ll go and bother someone else.’ 

‘Maybe you’re right… I’ll go and tell him he got it wrong.’ 

‘God, no, don’t do that!’ she said, utterly exasperated. She had never met someone so willfully naive. ‘Don’t bother him with something like that, Auror Hodges will sort it. You can’t go to the Head of the department because you can’t find your own desk.’ 

‘Why not? What’s he like?’ he asked. ‘Is he a wanker?’ 

Hazel blinked at him, utterly taken aback. If she had had suspicions before that this boy was going to be unbearable, demonstrating his complete lack of respect for authority on his very first day had entirely confirmed it. 

‘He - he’s our boss!’ She found herself hissing it at him, keeping her voice low as though she could get into trouble for something he said. 

He merely shrugged. ‘Just thought you might have some insight into the great and mysterious Harry Potter - and be able to warn me if he’s a wanker.’ 

‘Stop saying that!’ she hissed again. 

‘What? Wanker?’ 

‘Yes!’ 

‘Well is he? You don’t have to say it, a yes or no would be fine.’ 

He looked amused, and Hazel felt as though she were being laughed at - perhaps he thought she was lame or nerdy for feeling uncomfortable with his language. She wasn’t, but the idea of loudly discussing whether or not the boss (Harry Potter at that) was a wanker sent her into a nervous spin. 

‘He’s not,’ she said firmly, hoping that would end it. 

‘Buuuut…?’ he said, and there was no doubt about it now, he was definitely grinning mischievously. ‘He can’t be perfect.’

‘Well, no, obviously not,’ she muttered. ‘He can be quite…’ she glanced over her shoulder at the door to their cubicle, before lowering her voice even further. ‘He can be a bit demanding at times, and he’s quite vocal if he thinks people have done something stupid or unethical, so whatever you do, don’t try and cut corners or anything, because he’s a stickler for proper-’

‘Vocal?’ he asked, his eyebrows raising and grin widening. ‘Like, does he shout at people?’ 

‘Not often! But just, you know, sometimes I find him really scary, I think a lot of people do, he’s quite intimidating sometimes but you don’t need to be-’

‘Intimidating?’ he said, and he sounded almost gleeful. ‘So he is a wanker?’ 

‘I didn’t say that!’ she said hotly. ‘He’s always right about it, it’s just, you know, he’s Harry Potter-’

‘Yeah,’ said the boy, nodding his head in an understanding way. ‘Yeah, he’s really famous and no one knows he’s a wanker. Until he shouts at them. God, who’d have though it, eh? Never meet your heroes.’ 

‘He’s not! I didn’t say that!’ she squeaked, feeling an embarrassed sort of panic - what if this idiot went round telling people she had said that, and then Auror Potter found out? 

Said idiot looked absolutely delighted for some reason. Weren’t people meant to be a bundle of nerves on their first day? Who did this prat think he was?

‘Ah! You’re here already - I thought you’d be in the induction for a little while longer.’ Auror Hodges had just walked in, her files floating alongside her, a mug of coffee clasped in her hand, speaking directly to the strange, rude boy that was sitting in her chair. 

‘Auror Hodges,’ he said, springing up and going to shake her hand. ‘You don’t have a right arm,’ he said stupidly, swinging his own back and clicking his fingers. 

‘I do not. Well observed, you’ll fit in splendidly,’ said Auror Hodges briskly, setting down her coffee. ‘I see you’ve already met Auror Duarte, I’m sure we’ll all be quite a team before long-’

‘Boss,’ said Hazel hurriedly, ‘what-’

‘The pair of you will be sharing me, I’m afraid,’ said Auror Hodges. ‘Auror Potter’s request.’ 

‘Hmm,’ said the boy, who was obnoxiously looking at Auror Hodge’s missing limb. ‘Requested I be under your supervision specifically, did he?’ 

‘He did,’ said Auror Hodges, with a rather knowing smile, despite the boy’s rudeness. 

‘Get out in the field much?’ he asked wryly. 

‘Not so much anymore, no,’ she replied, and to Hazel’s bafflement, she seemed rather amused. ‘Though I certainly saw a lot when I was his trainee, back in the day.’ 

‘Ahh,’ the boy, tilting his head back in grinning realisation. ‘You’re Theia.’

‘Mmm, we’ve met before.’ 

‘Right, the stabbing!’ he said, grinning wider than ever. ‘Ah, but you probably don’t do fun stuff like that anymore, do you?’ 

‘Are you disappointed?’ 

‘I mean, yeah, a little bit,’ he said in a friendly manner, and by now Hazel’s mouth was wide open at his sheer audacity. ‘But to be expected, I suppose.’ 

‘I’m sure you’ll get over the disappointment eventually, Auror Potter,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I assure you, there’s still a lot to learn in the intelligence gathering team. Settle your things and then come and knock on my door and we’ll go through the next part of your induction.’ 

Hazel’s eyes widened, her heart seemed to turn icy cold - the boy’s dark hair suddenly felt like it should have been a screaming clue. James Potter dumped his things on his desk, and looked over at Hazel’s horrified expression with an exasperated grin. ‘My dad,’ he said, clearly enjoying the effect of the trap he had set for her, ‘is such a wanker.’


	3. Azkaban

As Head Auror, it was Harry’s duty to take new trainees to Azkaban for their guard duty induction. They couldn’t decide if it would be better or worse. Harry strongly believed it would be worse. James, in his naivety, thought it would be better.

‘We don’t look that much alike,’ he said. ‘I’m much more attractive than you ever were.’

Harry looked at him. He quite sincerely agreed - his dark hair was certainly the same colour, but far more manageable than Harry’s had ever been, and the splatter of brown freckles across his long, straight nose was from the Weasley side, making him look a little like Ron at times. But the jawline was the same, there was a familiarity in the grin, the way he walked, they way he laughed, the way he yawned, the expressiveness of his face.

‘We look alike enough for them to put two and two together,’ he said. ‘And they’ll put it together quicker if we’re both in the same room for them to do a side by side comparison.’

‘Nah, it’ll be a double bluff,’ said James easily. ‘And anyway, if I’m going to go by a different surname there-’

‘It won’t last,’ he muttered, glancing down at the false badge that had been created for him. ‘People will forget to call you Evans, someone will call you Potter at some point, and then-’

‘Ugh, Dad,’ said James, throwing his head back in exasperation. ‘Will you stop worrying? I’m a big boy, I can put up with some name calling. If it’s going to happen anyway, you might as well go ahead with what’s normal, rather than dragging it out.’

‘I could find someone else to do it for your induction-’ Harry said, yet again.

‘That’s even more obvious then!’ spluttered James, yet again. ‘It immediately marks me out as different from the other trainees, they’ll all wonder why you’re not doing it.’

They were back to the crux of the argument that they had circled all week. Harry inwardly kicked himself for not considering this problem far earlier, perhaps having Wright or Bosley doing all the inductions for this intake.

‘Just stop… coddling me,’ muttered James.

Harry sighed. ‘You… have no idea.’

‘I will do in a couple of hours, won’t I?’ said James promptly.

Harry studied him very carefully. ‘Remember what I said. About what to expect.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ said James. ‘Don’t worry, I know you weren’t downplaying it or anything. I’ve spoken to the other trainees - Hazel said when she was there they were all trying to throw food at you.’

‘Their loss,’ shrugged Harry. ‘We don’t exactly give out seconds for lunch, if they want to waste their mash potatoes that’s on them.’

James grinned, and Harry sighed heavily and nodded. ‘I knew I’d never win - Ginny’s stubborness in you.’

And so they left the department and made the cold journey across the north sea in the enchanted little fishing boat, heading out to the distant dot that was the fortress of Azkaban. Harry was used to the journey, but people were often sea sick the first few times - he remembered Theia looking longingly at the nets as though she wanted to curl up and sleep, and he remembered Wright forgetting to turn his head out of the wind when he threw up over the side.

James looked a little queasy too, but in typical fashion he seemed determined to pretend that he was actually enjoying himself, trying his best to annoy his father by speaking in a pirate voice and looking out at the cold grey horizon the only sign that he was uncomfortable the sheer white of his knuckles as he gripped the side of the boat.

‘Badge,’ Harry prompted him, as the boat shuddering into shore. James nodded and applied the badge to his chest as he gazed up at the looming fortress, covered in seagull shit.

‘Proper grim,’ he said.

‘Used to be worse,’ said Harry bracingly. ‘This way.’

He led his his son up the slippery track, explaining in detail the procedures and rules around the boat and how to summon it.

‘And then we come to here,’ he said, gesturing to the iron doors of Azkaban. ‘We’ll go through security check - if you’ve got anything on you that’s going to embarrass me when they confiscated it, can you please dump it now?’

‘I haven’t!’ said James, in an offended voice. His father stared at him. ‘I might have a small firework at the bottom of my bag,’ James admitted.

Harry rolled his eyes, and held out his hand. James dutifully dug in his bag for a few seconds, before pulling out a crumpled looking firework. Harry banished it.

‘That cost me six sickles,’ said James. ‘That’s three nights of doing the washing up.’

‘I don’t think you get pocket money now that I actually employ you,’ Harry informed him.

He took James through the heavy, slightly slimy, doors and greeted the dedicated Azkaban guards on duty. ‘This is James Evans,’ he told them pointedly.

‘Gotcha,’ said Roy, tapping his nose. ‘All right, then, Evans, bag, please.’

As the guard swept his detectors over the bag and searched it, Harry explained what they did and the sorts of contraband most likely to be smuggled into the prison. To his surprise, James did not crack jokes, roll his eyes or make any kind of snarky comment - he seemed far more likely to act professionally when other people were around, something Harry found bizarre but was grateful for. It appeared he was being unfair in assuming that James would act much as he did at home.

James nodded attentively and politely asked Roy questions about his magic detectors; he even managed to resist making a crude joke as he was patted down.

‘Best of luck in there,’ said Roy cheerfully. ‘It’s always a bit worse when he’s in, it’ll be better for you when you’re in the swing of things.’

James wrinkled his nose and grinned. ‘Will it, though?’

Roy’s expression was one of sympathetic amusement. ‘Well, maybe not. We’ll see, eh? We’ll look out for you, anyway.’

‘The quicker I make it to senior auror, the quicker I can avoid coming here on a regular basis, eh?’ said James, looking at Harry.

Harry just smiled mildly. ‘On we go, then.’

He led the way, into a huge circular chamber, stretching up higher than was possible without magic, the metal stairs snaking their way past dark cells.

For a few moments, all way silent, and Harry whispered James’s induction to him, explaining the routine, pointing out the doors to the welfare room, and then-

‘POTTAAAAAAH!’

The noise was instant and deafening - once one prisoner had looked out of his cell and spotted him, his shout had alerted the others, and they howled and booed and screamed down curses.

‘-the mind Healer comes in every Tuesday,’ Harry continued, talking loudly so James could hear him about the din, ‘but if someone seems at risk of harming themselves, you must take them to the welfare room and summon the rotating Healer-’

‘Fuck you! Fuck you!’

‘How do I know if it’s genuine?’ James shouted back as they reached the bottom of the metal stairs. Harry was impressed with how well he was ignoring it.

‘Doesn’t matter, not worth the risk of being wrong - just take them. It’s very annoying.’

‘I’ll kill your fucking family!’

At this, James’s eyes briefly flicked up to the person shouting, but then back to Harry. ‘I can’t take them out the cell on my own though, right?’

‘Right,’ Harry agreed. ‘They don’t have wands or anything, but they can still be quite threatening-’

‘You don’t say?’ shouted James, as someone above screamed that the Dark Lord would return and have his vengeance.

‘Just call over some guards, they’re a lot better nowadays, and make sure there’s at least three of you.’

They reached the first balcony, and Harry leaned against it, pointing down into the circular space and explaining the meal time routine. James listened, doing a remarkable job of ignoring them all, though he jumped slightly as there was a sudden clattering bang.

Harry craned his neck to look past James. ‘Oi!’ he bellowed. ‘Put your bed back! Do you want yard time or not?’ He shook his head in annoyance, and turned back to James. ‘-Just one floor at a time. The guards know the routine, so they should be up to date if there are any that need to be kept separate from each other, but it’s always worth double checking-’

It was annoying, always doing inductions like this. He was sure the trainees could only ever hear half of what he was saying, but then again Harry always found their reaction was a good indicator of whether they would qualify. So far, he was slightly unhappy to notice, James was doing very well.

‘You’d think after all these years they would, I dunno, get bored or something,’ said James, as they climbed the next flight of stairs.

‘Ah, I’m not in here very often anymore, it’s a treat for them,’ said Harry jovially. He heard a deep, mournful wailing, and sighed. ‘That’ll be Dolohov again.’ He leaned over the edge of the stairs, and shouted. ‘Sanjay? Could you and Keith sort Dolohov out? I haven’t got time to get punched in the head again.’

Sanjay gave him a thumbs up, and Harry continued on his walk with James. ‘Dolohov is in and out of the welfare room,’ he said. ‘It’s usually a ploy to make a half-hearted escape attempt, or try and attack.’

‘He never thinks to shake it up and try something new?’

Harry grinned. ‘Ah… You’ll not get much intellectual conversation in here, let’s put it that way.’

Still they climbed higher, and as they passed one cell, a familiar, unpleasantly raspy voice called out.

‘New kid - new kid-’

Harry wanted to keep walking, but James had hesitated slightly, instinctively turning his head to look at the grey haired, ragged man. 

‘What’s your name?’ he breathed at him. ‘New, are you?’

‘Evans,’ said James, pausing by the cell.

‘This way-’ said Harry abruptly.

James made to follow, but there was a hiss. ‘You don’t want to chat, Potter?’

‘I’m busy, Fenrir,’ said Harry pleasantly. ‘This way, Evans-’

But Greyback lunged out a yellow-nailed hand, clutching for James’s robes - James leapt back as Harry pulled out his wand and pointed it fiercely at Greyback. There was a cacophony of whoops and yells from the rest of the prisoners.

‘You’re just a bit too old for me anyway,’ sneered Greyback nastily. ‘I like ‘em young.’

Harry’s left hand twitched slightly - he wanted to reach out and grab his son by the arm, drag him away.

‘Pity you’re growing old locked up in here with a load of old people then, isn’t it?’ said James.

Greyback bared his yellow teeth, his eyes glinting, then looked back at Harry. ‘I want my potion.’

‘Full moon isn’t for another two weeks,’ said Harry tersely.

‘I still want it.’

‘Take it up with someone else. As I said, I’m busy.’ He jerked his head and barked, ‘Evans,’ more harshly than he intended.

James hurried after him, lowering his voice as they climbed the next set of stairs, so that Harry had to listen very carefully over the shouts. ‘Was that man a werewolf?’

‘Yes.’

‘Was… Was Teddy’s dad like that?’

‘No, of course not,’ Harry snapped. ‘Don’t talk to them, just keep following me-’

They heard more wailing, and looked down to see Dolohov, sobbing, being half carried to the welfare room. Harry tutted, and continued to climb the stairs.

They had reached the right floor, and Harry opened the large red metal door that sat opposite the stairs. They were hit with a blast of cold wind, and the smell of salt, and they stepped through to the yard. Although back inside the fortress had many more levels, out here they were at the top, with nothing but the battering wind and cold grey sea stretching out in every direction.

Harry lifted his wand, and suddenly the circular, bland courtyard was warmer, and blissfully quieter. He watched as James shuffled to the wall, and looked down at the sheer drop to the little graveyard and the crashing of waves against the rock.

‘There are anti-jumping spells,’ he told him. ‘When the prisoners have their time out here-’

‘That man really shook you up,’ said James suddenly, turning around and resting against the wall. ‘I think I know who he is, he’s the one that messed up Uncle Bill’s face, isn’t he?’

Harry considered him, his hands in his pockets. With the grey background of the gloomy sky and sea, James’s freckles seemed to stand out even more. ‘Yes,’ he said, eventually. ‘And he’ll be the first to recognise you - he probably already did but couldn’t place you, that’s why he started talking to you. He probably saw your photo in the paper a few weeks ago.’

‘Doesn’t matter, I won’t let him bother me - he can’t do anything, locked up in there, can he?’

‘No, not really,’ said Harry slowly. ‘Not as long as all procedures are followed correctly.’ He watched his son for a few moments, his dark hair ruffled by the breeze. He wished, for perhaps the thousandth time, that he’d just gone and played Quidditch or something.

‘They’re all going to guess a lot quicker if you look like you want to leap between me and whichever criminal I’m closest to, you know.’

Harry chuckled lightly. ‘Sorry. In my defence, that particular man has spent many years threatening you, I think it’s reasonable for me to be a bit jumpy.’

‘Me?’ said James, raising his eyebrows.

‘Well, not just you. It started with Teddy, but all of you, really… He was particularly excited when Lily was born.’

‘To, what, turn us into werewolves?’ said James sceptically. ‘Manage to time his break out with a full moon?’

Harry didn’t answer for a long time. ‘Something like that.’

James pulled a face. ‘They really are all just a bunch of horrible wankers, aren’t they?’

Harry laughed. ‘Yes, pretty much.’ He walked casually over to stand next to James, looking out to sea. ‘It must be a bit odd for you,’ he said. ‘Putting faces to names in here.’

James squinted slightly. ‘You lot never said names.’

‘Eh?’

‘In all your stories. You never say names, you just say “a death eater” or “a snatcher”. I mean, sometimes… Some names stick out, like that Umbridge woman-’

‘Oh, yes, she’s on the floor below,’ said Harry. ‘She tends to stay quiet though.’

‘But that’s the thing when you lot tell all your war stories. The details are always in the wrong places.’

Harry stared for a moment, and then smiled mildly. ‘Is that why you all find them so boring?’

‘Find them boring because you rotate through the same few,’ James said, grinning back. ‘But, like, that Dolohov bloke - I feel really sorry for him.’

‘Do you?’ said Harry quietly.

‘Yeah, I mean, I know he uses it as a way to try and cause trouble, but he was really sobbing. And, well, it’s not normal behaviour anyway, is it? To keep doing that. But then I looked at you, and you looked so pissed off, and I thought, that bloke probably pops up in one of Dad’s stories doing something unpleasant.’

‘He does,’ said Harry, looking back out at the sea.

‘What? What did he do?’ asked James. ‘Did he hurt you or mum, because-’

‘No,’ said Harry heavily. ‘He’s the one that killed Teddy’s dad.’

Now James was quiet for a long time. ‘Does Teddy know?’

‘Yes, of course, I’ve always been open with him about all that - but you don’t need to worry about Dolohov too much, he’s too self-pitying to try and goad you too much. He might try and attack, but the sad thing is, I don’t think he particularly remembers killing Remus. He’s certainly never mentioned it to me.’

‘So who do I need to worry about?’ James asked. ‘I mean, obviously I was prepared for shouts and insults and stuff, and that’s fine - it actually doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it would - but if there’s all this background I’m missing-’

Harry winced, and turned around, rubbing his scar vaguely as he leaned back on the wall. James had only been in this job for one bloody month. ‘Look, if you don’t engage with any of them, they won’t be able to-’

‘My induction is meant to be about preparing me, isn’t it?’ said James.

Harry sighed. ‘The Carrows on floor five,’ he said at last. ‘They tortured your mother a fair bit while she was at school that year, and they like to bring that up. Crabbe and Goyle, both on floor two, they watched Voldemort return when I was 14, and although, for the record, I was pretty brave if I do say so myself, they do enjoy reminding me how terrified I was. They might bring that up to you I suppose. Er…’ He rubbed his jaw. ‘Greyback, obviously, he tends to be the most imaginative of the lot. Rodolphus Lestrange will never forgive your grandmother for killing his wife, so he can be quite vicious about the whole Weasley side. He’s on…’ He screwed up his face. ‘No, can’t remember what floor he’s on.’

‘It’s all right,’ said James. ‘I get the picture.’

‘Not too late to quit, you know,’ said Harry hopefully.

James rolled his eyes. ‘I can handle it. I’m just looking forward to when I’m senior enough that it becomes a far more occasional annoyance.’ He looked up at him. ‘Why have you put up with it? All these years?’

‘I haven’t,’ said Harry. ‘I told you, I hardly ever come here any more. It’s pretty much only to do inductions, the occasional inspection. Maybe interview someone if new information has come to light.’

‘But you did it for a few years,’ James said. ‘I remember.’

Harry looked at him in surprise. ‘Do you?’

‘Yeah. You always did the night shift, didn’t you?’

‘That’s right,’ chuckled Harry, amazed that James would remember. ‘You were very small.’

‘Yeah, well you were always a right grumpy prick the next day,’ said James bluntly.

Harry laughed louder. ‘Yes, well, night shifts and small children that like to be up at the crack of dawn aren’t a great combination. I hope I wasn’t too awful.’

‘Nah, we always got to have the sugary cereal those mornings, it was fine,’ said James.

Harry checked his watch. ‘They’ll start bringing prisoners out here soon, we should probably make a hasty retreat. Unless you want your induction to include a crash course in people trying to wrestle your wand out your hand.’

‘I wouldn’t mind,’ replied James. ‘So far this job has had far fewer scraps than I was expecting.’

‘Good,’ said Harry firmly, as they reached the large red door. ‘Quite frankly, James, I hope you find your career as an auror disappointingly dull.’


	4. Office Relationships

He might have been at school again. The memo from Susan had flown sharply into the side of his head, and had simply read, ‘Meeting with Head Auror Potter, 2pm, Head Office’, without any of the usual little P.S’s like ‘bring coffee’ or ‘dinner at Ron & Hermione’s tonight’.

For some reason, like a naughty schoolchild, he had brought it with him, and now it was crumpled in his hand as he approached the door.

‘Two minutes,’ said Susan briskly, barely looking up from her desk. ‘His previous meeting has overrun.’

James wasn’t sure if she was telling the truth or this was another way to make him feel crap, so he took a seat by the door, staring blankly at the other side of the corridor, his head leaned back to rest on the wall. The clacking of her typewriter was maddening.

Merlin, it had been so embarrassing… And this was worse, getting bollocked by your boss was one thing, but when it was your dad too…

The door finally opened and Dawlish swept out and marched off down the corridor. James resisted the urge to swear. Dad would already be in a bad mood then.

Susan waited another minute before pausing in her typing, looking at him and saying, ‘you can go in now,’ as though James didn’t know him, as though he needed permission…

He did so, giving a cursory knock on the door as he entered, hoping his expression didn’t look too resentful and childish. His father looked up as he stepped through and closed the door behind him, and James could see his chest rise slightly as he seemed to take a deep breath.

‘Sit,’ he said. It was not unkind, but it had a certain professionalism about it.

James did so, the wide expanse of the dark wood desk between them, the backs of the cluster of photo frames on James’s left, a mountain of paperwork to his right. ‘So,’ he tried, with self-depreciating lightness, ‘what did you want to see me about?’

It did not work - Dad’s lips did not quiver into a smile. ‘Do you want to explain what happened this morning?’ he asked stiffly.

James could feel his ears grow hot, and knew they were burning red. ‘She was pretty angry with me.’

‘I gathered. The whole office did,’ Dad replied.

‘I didn’t shout,’ James said defensively, ‘that was all Beth - I was trying to shut her up, I tried to get her to take it out-’

‘Yes, the fact that she was the one making a scene is the reason she is no longer here and her research contract with us has been ended early and you, by the skin of your teeth, are, but make no mistake James, you are not being seen as an innocent party here.’

Dad always seemed to speed up a little when he was angry, the voice rising slightly, so James fell silent and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, waiting.

Dad sighed heavily once more, and then, apparently avoiding James’s gaze as much as James was avoiding his, said, ‘if a personal relationship with a colleague develops to the extent that scenes like that could take place in the office, it must be formally declared-’

‘What?’ said James, baffled. ‘How was I supposed to know she was going to go off like that? I didn’t know she was bonkers.’

Dad’s eyes flicked to him shrewdly for a moment, and then, with an air of great reluctance, spoke again. ‘From what she was shouting, I think we can all gather that you slept with her.’

‘Yeah,’ said James, who had quickly decided that skirting around the issue would simply make it even more awkward than it actually was. ‘But I still didn’t know that-’

‘Office relationships have to be formally declared,’ said Dad.

James gaped at him. ‘To you?’ he burst out, horrified.

‘Yes, well, that’s what happens when you decide to take a job where your father is head of the department,’ said Dad, and his own cheeks were going red now, his voice quicker than ever. ‘Those conversations are always awkward enough anyway, but if you’d read your employee handbook then you’d have known that it’s policy and it always has been, since before I-’

‘But why?’ exclaimed James, still utterly repulsed. ‘God, I thought you took all the stupid shit out when you joined, isn’t that how you - she’s not a proper colleague anyway, she was here on contract for research, she was going to be leaving in a couple of - why should you have to know?’

‘It’s there for a reason, to minimise the risk of corruption and blackmail, to be aware of couples that may struggle or get distracted if a loved one is out in the field, and, yes, actually, to be prepared for unprofessional scenes like the incident this morning-’

‘That’s still not my fault!’ James insisted, feeling rather fired up all of a sudden. ‘I dumped her, and if she’d accepted it like a grown up, there wouldn’t have been any unprofessionalism, no one would have needed to know, there wouldn’t have been any embarrassing declaration - or -or -’

‘You clearly didn’t dump her properly,’ said Dad sharply, ‘if she still thought it was up for discussion this morning.’

‘Again, not my fault!’ insisted James. ‘She’s the one who’s bonkers - right, look, I slept with her once-’

‘I don’t need to-’ muttered Dad, leaning back and looking away, but James ploughed on.

‘-And then literally while we were still in bed afterwards she started saying all this mad shit about the old files she’s been researching and all these stupid conclusions she’s come to about how some people just can’t be helped, and then she brought up werewolves and all these crackpot ideas about humane euthanasia-’

‘OK,’ said Dad quietly, rubbing at his scar, ‘you don’t need to-’

‘And then she wouldn’t back down even when I was saying “steady on, my brother’s half werewolf, what you’re suggesting would mean that he’d have never been born” and then she started saying he might be genetically predisposed to violent behaviour and quite frankly I think I was well within my rights to say “nope” and get the fuck out of there-’

‘James…’

‘-And it’s not like I didn’t make my intentions or feelings clear, I said quite plainly that was it, and the fact that she still came and started to try and patch things up - without, by the way, admitting what she said was wrong or anything, just doubled down and then started bringing up goblin conspiracy theories and all sorts of mad stuff, and then just started yelling about it in the office - I mean I vaguely remember her at school but I never heard about how awful she is, no one warned me, so how is that my fault?’ He realised as he finished that he had been gesticulating wildly as he talked, and dropped his hands back down, fuming.

‘While… I’m horrified we had someone like that working for us-’ began Dad, in a patient, steady voice.

‘How do you think I feel? I slept with her!’ said James hotly, and Dad winced.

‘The fact still remains that… you’ve brought a level of unprofessionalism into the office that is unacceptable.’

‘You going to sack me?’ James asked bluntly. ‘I bet you’ve been dying for an excuse.’

‘No,’ said Dad, still patiently, ‘though believe me, certain members of the department have already accused me of nepotism for not removing you from the training programme with immediate effect.’

James could guess who; Dawlish’s angry sweep from the over-running meeting (over the time Dad usually took lunch, too), was a glaring clue.

‘What has saved you was that it was clear you were trying to stop her making a scene, and that you yourself did not initiate it or rise to the bait. What is a problem is that you didn’t declare the relationship-’

‘There wasn’t time even if I’d known I had to,’ said James. ‘It only started last night.’

‘Fuking hell,’ Dad muttered, looking away immediately again and rubbing his scar. He closed his eyes. ‘James, have you never heard the expression “don’t shit where you sleep”? I’m sure your Uncle George must have-’

‘I didn’t know she was going to be-’

‘But that’s the point!’ Dad burst out. ‘Have you considered getting to know someone first before you-’ he grimaced again, raising his hands as though in surrender. ‘Especially if you work with them - quite frankly I would strongly, heavily, unreservedly discourage dating anyone in the department - or even closely connected departments - anyway, for many reasons, but if you really must, perhaps check that they don’t have abhorrent views first?’

‘Yeah, I will now, thanks,’ muttered James, feeling his ears burn again as he looked sourly at the floor.

‘Good,’ Dad grunted back, and then, quietly, ‘I really would discourage any office-’

‘Got it,’ snapped James.

‘OK,’ said Dad quietly. ‘Well, thankfully, I don’t think she’ll be going to the press, I think it’s been made clear to her that she doesn’t come off well in the story, but if I were you, I’d keep my head very low indeed if you want to avoid accusations of only being here because of your name.’

‘That what people are saying, is it?’ asked James bitterly.

Dad was silent for a few moments. ‘How’s the studying going for your second year exam?’

James blinked. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Good. I’ve been doing practice papers-’

‘Good,’ said Dad quietly. ‘That’s all marked externally, so it’s a chance to prove yourself a bit - though privately I’d advise you to brush up on your human transfiguration, you’re still struggling to hide your freckles.’

‘Yeah,’ muttered James darkly, absently touching at his face. ‘I hate them.’

Now Dad did smile a little. ‘Don’t,’ he said gently. ‘But work hard at it. Then you’ve just got one more year and you’re qualified, and people will find it a lot harder to suggest nepotism.’

‘They won’t stop though, will they?’

‘No, probably not entirely.’ Dad fixed him with a firm look. ‘The expectations on you must be higher because of that. Any mistake you make, any failure, will mean more against you than it will against others. Under a lot of consideration the senior leadership team allowed Crispin to retake a training year, because he only failed by a couple of marks. I do not think the same courtesy would be extended to you.’

‘That’s not-’

‘I know it’s not fair,’ said Dad simply. ‘But it’s true. Your standards must be higher. Do not sleep with a coworker again.’

‘I won’t,’ James promised. ‘The idea of having to declare it to you is revolting enough.’


	5. French

‘If you went to Beauxbatons,’ he said to her randomly while she was trying to concentrate, ‘you must speak French.’ 

‘Yes,’ she said, through gritted teeth, still studying the map of Wales intently. ‘I do.’ 

‘I speak French as well,’ he said casually. 

She sighed. ‘Do you?’ she said doubtfully. 

‘Yeah.’ 

She looked up from the map to see him leaning back in his chair, spinning it slightly, clearly bored out of his mind. ‘Don’t you have something to do?’ 

‘No,’ he said. ‘My dad’s given me fuck all again.’ 

She wanted to say something cutting in response, maybe sarcastically saying he was lucky, or spoilt, or something like that, but it still felt too close to insulting her boss, so she merely tutted and looked back at her map. 

‘I do speak French, though,’ he said. 

‘Of course you do,’ she said dryly. ‘Hogwarts students are known for their linguistic capabilities, that’s why I, someone who speaks three languages, found it so hard to get a job here. They’re overflowing with people with language skills, they just don’t know what to do with them.’ 

She heard him chuckle, and the creak of his chair as he spun around again. ‘You don’t believe me? I learnt it to seduce witches, you know.’ 

‘Eurgh,’ she said, wincing. ‘Don’t ever say that again.’ 

‘I don’t know why you find it so hard to believe. Is it because you’re prejudiced against English people?’ 

‘I’m half English,’ she said grumpily. ‘But yeah, as a matter of fact, none of you bother to learn other languages, you just talk louder when you’re on holiday.’ 

‘But I bothered,’ he said. 

‘Did you?’

‘Oui.’

She gave in to his toddler-like demands for attention. ‘Vas-y alors, parle français,’ she said, turning and glowering at him. 

He stared at her blankly for a moment, blinked slowly, and looked off to the left, as though thinking. Then, in shockingly bad pronunciation, he replied, ‘j’aime jouer au Quidditch avec mon grand frère et les mardis, j'écoute la radio.’ 

She stared silently at him for several seconds. ‘Wow,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Is that from page two or page three of A Young Wizards Introduction to French?’ 

He shrugged. ‘I didn’t know what to say, I just thought I would tell you what I get up to in my spare time.’ 

She rolled her eyes. ‘Aren’t you the eldest of the Potter children anyway?’ 

‘Yeah, technically,’ he said blankly. ‘Aren’t you impressed?’ 

‘No.’ 

‘But I’m English and I speak another language.’ 

‘Barely. That’s primary school level.’ 

‘Oh!’ he said with interest, leaning forward. ‘My dad talks about primary school, and my aunt, that’s a muggle thing, isn’t it?’ 

‘Yes,’ she said stiffly. ‘I’m muggleborn.’ 

‘You get more and more intriguing,’ he said brightly. ‘I’m really looking forward to us working together.’ 

She rubbed her eyes wearily. ‘I can’t believe it’s only week two for you. And I can’t believe they’re making us share a desk.’

‘They’re not, I have my own desk,’ he said, gesturing grandly. 

‘Each cubicle is referred to as a desk,’ she snapped. 

He didn’t seem phased at all. ‘Yeah, I knew that. Hey, as we’re on the same desk, can I join you on some of your assigned work? I really mean it, my Dad, via Hodges, has given me honestly next to nothing to do.’ 

It would keep him quiet, she supposed. She handed him a large stack of manilla files, dating back to 1953. ‘Go through these, and look for any mention of someone called Hoxley,’ she said. 

‘Why?’ 

‘Just do it, please,’ she said wearily. To her surprise, he did. 

‘Hey,’ he said, after a wonderful fifteen minutes of silence. ‘What’s your third language? It’s something obscure, like Sami or something, isn’t it? Or Sentinelese.’ 

‘It’s Portugese, please stop talking.’


	6. Rota

‘Come in,’ he heard his father’s voice say, and he nearly started laughing, because his work voice was so ridiculous - all serious and stern and dark sounding. Totally playing up to the legend, if you asked him.

But he bit back the grin, and entered. ‘Helloooo, Dad,’ he said casually, swinging his arms as he went and flopping easily onto the sofa.

Dad looked irritably up from his desk. ‘I told you, you can’t act like that at work, you’ve got to be professional-’

‘Oh, are we at work?’ said James, slapping his forehead. ‘You should have said. You should have said so I could actually get some work done, you know, proper work.’

He sighed, and closed the folder in front of him. ‘Out with it, then.’

‘You’ve put me on Azkaban duty again.’

Dad’s hand moved, apparently unconsciously, to rub the scar on his head. James had him rattled, even if his expression didn’t show it. ‘I know it’s rubbish, but everyone has to do it now and then.’

‘Yeah, weird that it’s always me.’

‘I know it’s unpleasant, I’d really rather I didn’t have to send you there, to be taunted by all those people-’

‘Brilliant,’ James interrupted cheerfully. ‘If you don’t want me to go, I’ve already checked with Hazel, and she’s happy to cover my shift there-’

‘James…’

‘So I can join all of the other junior Aurors in the raid tonight instead.’

Now he was really rattled - his jaw was all tense and he was tapping his fingers on the desk. ‘Everyone’s got to do Azkaban duty, there always has to be at least one Auror there, it just happens to be your turn on the rota-’

‘Yeah, funny that Hazel’s only done it once though and I’ve done it about a dozen times - always when there’s a particularly nasty raid or something coming up.’

His father stared at him for a long time, the finally swore under his breath, and said, ‘fine - fine. I’m keeping you out the way. That’s what’s going to happen given that I’m the one who organises the rotas - I’m not going to apologise for it.’ 

James had expected this, so he just smirked, and got up off the sofa, sauntering over the desk. ‘Doesn’t look great though, does it, boss?’

Dad glared up at him, leaning back in his chair. ‘You know what, one day you’ll have a kid, and you’ll apologise for-’

‘Putting you through this and becoming an auror, I know, I know,’ said James, still grinning. ‘But, come on - I’ve already had a few comments. Favouritism, innit? I mean, I don’t see it that way because I don’t get to do anything fun-’

‘It’s because you think these raids are fun that I don’t want you on them-’ said his dad furiously.

‘-But if you look at it from everyone else’s perspective, you’re paying me at qualified level, because, you know, I am qualified, but I’m still doing trainee work. Sometimes I don’t have any work at all. Not very fair on them, is it?’

Dad leant his elbows on the desk and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. James even felt slightly guilty, but quite frankly this had gone on long enough.

‘I told you,’ he said stubbornly. ‘If you can’t deal with it, you’ll just have to retire.’

Dad snorted a despairing sounding chuckle into his hands. ‘You’re going to send me to an early grave,’ he muttered.

‘Oh, no!’ said James dramatically. ‘Can’t have that, Harry Potter looking at an early grave. I wouldn’t be the first, would I?’

‘No, no you wouldn’t,’ he agreed, leaning back again. ‘Fine. Go on the raid.’

‘Thank you,’ said James promptly.

‘But I’m putting you in Bosley’s team-’

‘No, I want to go in Wright’s-’

‘Not a chance, that team’s leading-’

‘Yeah, that’s why I want it-’

‘They’re senior aurors only - you can go with Fawcett, that’s the best I’ll do for you.’

James considered. ‘Davies.’ When his father glared sullenly, he added, ‘or I could always ask for a transfer into old Dawlish’s team-’

‘Fuck, no, fine - I’ll put you with Davies’ team,’ said Dad moodily, ignoring James’s laugh. James appreciated that his dad willingly swore in the office - there was still a childish part of him that made him think it meant his dad considered him a grown up, rather than acknowledging the likely truth that it was simply that he was highly stressed. 

‘Great, thanks. I better head to the briefing room. I’ll send word to St Mungo’s to save me a bed too-’

‘That’s not funny.’

‘Yeah, you’re right, sorry - a raid like this they’ll be straight in with Avada Kedavra won’t they?’

‘Fucking hell,’ muttered Dad, turning his chair slightly and rubbing his jaw. ‘Don’t stand there bragging about it, clear off before I change my mind.’

James grinned again and headed to the door. He stopped just before he left, and looked over his shoulder. ‘You’re going to be on the raid too, right?’

‘Yeah, course I am,’ came the quiet reply. ‘I’ll see you in the briefing room before we go.’

‘Cheers,’ said James happily, and then he closed the door gently behind him.


	7. Clara

‘Are you coming out for drinks?’ Hazel asked him.

'Nah,’ he said distractedly, gazing down at his manilla folder. 'Look at this cool murder.’

He shoved the picture from the folder under her nose, and she scowled, batting it away. 'Christ, Potter.’

'Those are his toes!’

'Yes, I can see that.’

'Babe, you coming?’ came a shout. From the other end of the corridor, he saw Hazel’s boyfriend, waving impatiently as he stood with a little gaggle of their coworkers.

'Babe, you coming?’ mimicked James quietly, and Hazel rolled her eyes and smacked his folder down to the floor.

'Enjoy looking at gore alone while the rest of us go to the pub.’

'I have a hot date, actually,’ he said, leaning back on his chair and swiveling it slightly, ignoring the mess of papers that now littered his cube. 'My brother’s set me up with someone he went to school with.’

'At least he will have warned the poor woman about you then.’

'Yeah hopefully,’ he said fairly. He wrinkled his nose. 'I’m not expecting much from Teddy’s taste in women though, he couldn’t even match with someone outside the family, which is the bare minimum for everyone else on the planet.’

'BABE!’

'Off you go, babe,’ he said tauntingly. 'Can’t keep Whittaker waiting. He’s very important in the law enforcement patrol.’

She gave him an irritated look and left. 'Coming Mark! And sorry Dee!’ he heard her shout. 'He’s too busy looking at severed toes.’

'James!’ he heard Deanna shout, exasperated, and he grinned. 'Get a life!’

'I’m off the next few days, so see you when I see you!’ he called back, leaning down to pick up his papers. He shoved them hastily back into the file without really looking at what order they should be in, then into his bag without really thinking, and sighed heavily. The office was now virtually empty, there were just a handful of cubes that still had their lamps on, little signals for aurors at that point in their cases where they couldn’t tear themselves away. He wandered to his father’s office, convincing himself it was to ask a work related question, rather than just to gain some reassurance, but his lights were switched off and the door was locked. He glanced at the watch his father had given him for coming of age, and resigned himself to the fact that if he pissed about and procrastinated any longer, he would effectively be leaving the poor woman to be stood up. He could be a dickhead at times, but he wasn’t that bad.

Perhaps he should have changed though, he thought as he headed to the lift. Turning up in his auror uniform was kind of like he was trying to make some weird point, like he was trying to show off. It was a bit twatish, now that he thought about it. Mind you, he had just teased Hazel for having a boyfriend in the patrol, so maybe he was just a twat. 

His date, Clara, would be waiting for him in Hogsmeade, and as the lift rattled down, James had another small panic that Teddy might have set him up with a weirdo. The very annoying thing about Teddy was that he was nice to everyone, and this occasionally extended to people who should be politely avoided. Still, it would be nice if one day he could join all his coworkers for drinks and not be the third, fifth, seventh or whatever odd number wheel. What he wouldn’t give to be gently teased about his own choice in partner, and be able to laugh it off because he knew he was set…

He hated the flavour, but forced himself to chew on a pepper imp from the old packet he kept in his pocket, feeling strangely irritated with himself. Or perhaps it was embarrassment. Yet there was no one around to be embarrassed in front of, just a few other stragglers taking their time to walk across the atrium like him, past the huge phoenix fountain in the middle, mumbling a goodbye to the security team, out into the balmy late afternoon of central London where he vanished with a crack.

He arrived in Hogsmeade, sparing a glance up at the castle with it’s warm yellow windows and dark walls. His sister was still there, probably revising for her N.E.W.Ts, or having fun with Rowan, maybe planning some strategies for her Quidditch game tomorrow. Perhaps he should join mum and dad to watch her. He felt a little homesick for the school, so much so that he found himself glancing over his shoulder up at is as he walked away, heading down a cobbled little street to the restaurant Teddy had told him to meet her at.

'It’s nothing too fancy,’ he had told him. 'Not Clara’s style. More of a pub vibe.’ Teddy had paused. 'It is a pub. You’re going to the Three Broomsticks.’

Unlike his father and Al, James’s hair mostly behaved itself. James found this exceedingly annoying, so he paused for a moment outside the pub, rumpling it slightly and wincing as he swallowed the last of his pepper imp, hoping desperately that Teddy hadn’t set him up with a hag as a joke.

But Clara, marked by the fact that she was the only woman sitting alone as well as by the muggle leather jacket he’d been told she would be wearing, was not a hag. She was sitting a little nervously, a tousle of blonde hair over one shoulder, chewing slightly on her lip (painted with bright red lipstick) as she peered out of the dark window. Thank Merlin he’d come in the other door so she hadn’t seen him mussing up his hair. He released a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding, and approached.

'Clara?’ he said hesitantly.

Grey eyes flicked up to meet him, and she smiled awkwardly. She had one of those velvety, choker type of necklaces on, and a delicate silver nose piercing. 'James?’ she said back, and they grinned and said hello at one another, both of them with the same happy inflection as though they already knew each other, both sets of cheeks going slightly pink. They went through a bumbling charade of him offering to get her another drink and she declining and he insisting and finally hurrying to the bar to get her a gin and tonic and he thought about getting himself a beer because that seemed more manly but fuck it, gin was much nicer so he got one too.

'So, you’re Ted’s brother,’ she said, even though they both knew she knew exactly who he was.

'Er, yeah,’ he said. 'Sort of, obviously. You went to school with him?’

'Yes, I was in his house, but I was the year below him so… We weren’t close friends or anything, so don’t worry if this doesn’t work out, it won’t make everything awkward or anything,’ she said with a wink, and he laughed, because he could tell she had practiced the line and was nervous. She really was very pretty; she leaned over the table slightly to speak in a lower, more excited voice, and her smile made dimples on her cheeks. 'I hear he has a baby now?’ she asked, wrinkling her nose in bewildered amazement.

'Dora, yeah,’ said James, nodding and grinning broadly. 'She’s… she’s so sweet. Not such a little baby anymore though, she’s four now… or did she just turn five? She had a birthday… I don’t know, I’m a terrible godfather. He’s got another one on the way too, you know.’

'Bloody hell, you’re joking?’

'No, I-’ he winced. 'I just remembered it’s not meant to be public knowledge yet…’

She laughed. 'I won’t tell.’ She shook her head vaguely. 'That’s mad, though, I can’t imagine having a baby, let alone two - I bet he’s good at it though, isn’t he? He seems the type. Responsible and grown-up. I mean, he actually went home after his summer of traveling; some of us just didn’t stop until our money ran out.’

'Really?’

'God, yeah, I only came back to the country a few months ago - I ended up just staying in South America. Ecuador is just…’ she gestured vaguely. 'It’s just wow.’

'I’d like to go - I did a Teddy, I only went away for a little while, but I went to India with some friends. Got the trains around - did the backwaters in Kerala on a houseboat.’

Her eyes widened. 'Wow - and you weren’t tempted to stay?’

He laughed. 'Nah, I knew I had Auror training to start.’

'Right! Of course - he said - so glamorous - are you all trained up then?’

'Yeah, I qualified a few months ago - somehow.’

'Well, your dad being Head of the Department must help?’

'Hmm… not as much as you’d think…’ She laughed at his exaggerated exasperated expression and peppered him with more questions.

She was bright, and funny, and she looked up at him through long lashes and giggled at all his jokes and he could feel that dangerous spin in his chest where he had to tell himself to slow down and remember that he had just met her. After a few more drinks, she admitted to her bad habit and he joined her in the smokers area, and within minutes they were enthusiastically snogging against the brick wall.

She was gorgeous, he would have to thank Teddy, and she had just enough of an edginess about her that he didn’t feel like he was blindly settling; she was interesting, he told himself, as he felt her hands running appreciatively over him. Plus, he thought vaguely as they broke apart, gasping slightly, and he started to kiss her neck, that edginess and sense of adventure he’d picked up in her meant that she probably wouldn’t be bothered about his odd hours or anything.

And though she was the one who was flirtatiously tracing the waistband of his trousers and teasingly touching the clasp of his belt, she eventually hummed and pushed him away slightly. 'We shouldn’t… it’s the first date,’ she said awkwardly, a blush rising in her cheeks again, though she was smiling.

'Right, yeah, of course,’ he said quickly, trying to push the suggestion that they go back to hers firmly out of his mind. 'Don’t want to end up in the gossip rags.’

She giggled. 'Is that likely with you?’

'Comes with the family name, unfortunately,’ he said, with an apologetic grin. 'Risk you take with me.’

'My goodness,’ she said, her eyebrows raising. 'I’ll have to consider you very carefully then.’

'Well, let me know if I pass,’ he said stupidly, because it had sounded suave in his head.

She giggled again, winked at him, and kissed him goodbye. Her lips lingered on his a little, before finally they broke apart, she gave him a glowing look, and went back into the pub to get the Floo home. He couldn’t wipe the grin off his face - he felt more excited now than he even had been when she was here, because he reckoned he’d done well, and it seemed to him like she might want to see him again.

He had planned to get the Knight Bus home, but as he opened his bag to get some gold, he saw the crumpled edge of a manilla folder. ‘Ah, shit,’ he muttered.

He often brought case files home to work on, and it drove Dad mad because apparently it was “extremely illegal” and “completely unprofessional” and “could get him fired” even though James saw case files in Dad’s study growing up all the time. But he had a rare occasion of the next three days off and that did seem like quite a long time to have sensitive information just chilling out in his flat, where it ran the risk of being buried under dirty laundry or used plates.

So, with a heavy sigh, he headed to the Floo himself, and within a few minutes was hurrying through the dark, quiet atrium of the Ministry.

To his surprise, the light of his cubicle was on, and when he reached it, there was Hazel, hunched over her desk.

‘Oh, hello,’ he said brightly, and she jumped, half turning to see who it was, wiping at her face a little.

‘Hi,’ she said hoarsely, turning back to her desk and opening up a folder full of extradition request forms.

‘I thought you were out at drinks?’

‘I… I changed my mind,’ she said in a small voice, and as he sat heavily at his own desk and began to unzip his bag, he realised that she seemed to be on the verge of tears, or perhaps had already been crying - her face was puffy and though she only glanced at him he saw at once that her eyes were red.

‘Oh,’ he said, because he wasn’t sure what else to say.

‘How was your date?’ she asked, with a credible impression of interest.

It seemed rather heartless, when he suspected she had argued with her awful boyfriend again, to say, ‘you know what, Haze, I reckon I’m going to marry that woman,’ so instead he settled for, ‘well, you know how first dates are - bit awkward. We’ll see how it goes.’

She nodded, and sniffed. ‘Was she nice, though?’

‘Yeah,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Pretty.’

‘Good,’ she said thickly. ‘What’re you doing back then?’

‘Erm… I accidentally put this file in my bag and thought I should bring it back rather than lose it in my flat,’ he said, pulling the offending file out and shoving it in his drawer. When she didn’t scold him reproachfully for taking it in the first place, he looked carefully at her. ‘Has something happened?’ he asked.

She paused for a moment, then sniffed again. ‘Just had a crap night,’ she said, apparently unable to look at him. ‘Thought I’d come in and… do some paperwork.’

There was a long silence, and then James, sure that he was saying the wrong thing entirely but unable to resist, said, ‘you deserve better than Mark Whittaker, you know.’

She sighed heavily and leaned back in her chair, rubbing her eyes. ‘Oh… Potter, don’t say that.’

‘Why not? You do. He’s a prick.’ Then, daringly, he put on the same, deep, slow voice he’d used to mimic him earlier, and quietly said, ‘babe’ with an a troll-like expression. He saw her lips twitch.

‘It was just a stupid argument,’ she said patiently. ‘It doesn’t matter. We both just need to cool off.’

‘What was it about?’

She shook her head, her eyebrows raising. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ she said, so quietly he barely heard her. ‘Come on - tell me about your hot date.’

‘She has a nose piercing. And she’s been on a Grand Tour for years in South America.’

Hazel snorted with laughter. ‘Good grief.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’ he spluttered indignantly.

‘Nothing, sorry,’ she laughed. She frowned slightly, though to his relief she still looked rather amused. ‘Did you say Teddy went to school with her?’

‘Yeah.’

‘So she’s… quite a bit older than you?’

‘Only a little bit. Like…’ he shrugged, ‘pfft, thirty… five or something. Forty.’ She laughed, and he grinned. ‘Nah, she was in the year below him, I reckon a four or five year age gap’s fine - perhaps I need an older woman anyway.’

‘What, to help you grow up?’ she teased.

‘Guide me through life,’ he agreed. He yawned and stretched. ‘Right, well, I’m going to go and beat up Whittaker for you and head home.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘You don’t need to beat him up for me-’

‘I know, I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of doing that yourself, my apologies-’

‘It was just a little tiff, we’ll be fine by tomorrow,’ she said firmly, giving him an exasperated smile.

‘Suit yourself,’ he shrugged as he rose. ‘I thought we could vandalise his flat together, but if you insist… see you Wednesday, Duarte - don’t be a saddo doing paperwork til the early hours.’

‘Cheers, Potter,’ she said dryly. ‘See you Wednesday - we have a super fun surveillance job scheduled.’

‘Don’t you just love it,’ he called over his shoulder with a wave.


	8. To Fight Beside You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is actually a one-shot I posted a long time ago independently, so can be skipped if you have already read To Fight Beside You.

He had been qualified for over a year now, and his father had finally relaxed, as much as he was ever going to, about the dangers of his job. He still caught him, now and then, hesitating over certain case files, handing them to someone else at “random”, but for the most part James found himself growing in confidence as an auror, noticing with mild embarrassment as his voice sometimes slipped into the same authoritative tone as his father at work. Oh dear, was he growing up?

A few cuts, burns and bruises were a small price to pay for the thrill of a good raid or mission, the adrenaline from following someone under his invisibility cloak more than made up for the relentless hours, and the admiring giggle his girlfriend gave him when he returned home in his scarlet robes was worth the gruesome scenes he often came across. James had to admit, he got a bit of a thrill out of them, too.

‘-Killed him with an enchanted umbrella,’ his father was reading out of a file, ‘so when he opened it, a bunch of little knives fell out of it onto him.’

‘Cool,’ said James. ‘Stylish touch.’

His dad gave him a withering look. ‘Right, seeing as you clearly don’t have the tact to talk to the victim’s family about this one, it can go to Hazel-’

‘What? No, give me the brolly murder, you never let me do anything fun-’

‘Sorry, Potter,’ said Hazel chirpily. ‘Looks like you’re on surveillance work again.’

The briefing room laughed as James pulled a face at her, but Dad raised his hand. ‘Everyone else I want in training for the operation on Monday evening - no pissing about, everyone’s going to be involved-’

‘You’ve tracked him, then?’ Wiggins called from the back.

‘Yeah, the prick’s snagged himself a castle on the Northumberland coast,’ Dad replied. ‘But I think it will be a big one, so I don’t want to rush in wands blazing - everyone needs to be training while I discuss with the strategy team. Focus on attacking spells rather than defensive, please. Naturally, this all stays confidential, I don’t want him alerted to the fact that we’re coming.’

‘Blimmin’ hell,’ huffed Hazel as they left the briefing room. ‘Attacking spells? Not his usual style, is it?’

James shrugged. ‘Going to be a big one, I reckon, he’s been in knots about it all week. The guy’s proper grim, I think he wants to make sure it’s done right before he’s the next Voldemort.’

‘Oh, fab, should be a walk in the park then, eh? Right, well I’ll go speak to Mr Umbrella’s mum - catch you in the training room later then?’

‘Yeah, see you.’

He caught sight of his dad walking back towards his office, and changed direction, hurrying towards him.

‘Hey,’ he said, once he was alongside him. ‘You could have given me one case to work on this week-’

‘Surprisingly, James, this isn’t me giving you special treatment,’ he replied, looking distinctly unhappy about it. ‘The only ones who’ve been given case work this week are the ones on rota for Azkaban or on their day off on Monday night - by the time the operation was arranged it was too late for me to fiddle with the rota. Everybody’s in training for this, so don’t worry, you’ll still get a chance to risk your neck along with everyone else.’

‘Bloody hell, what exactly are you expecting?’

They had reached the door of his office, and his father sighed heavily. ‘I’m expecting to regret hiring you.’

‘Rude.’

‘If you want to make yourself really useful you could go and grab me one of those nice pastries from the cafe. You know, with the almonds. A some of the nice coffee too while you’re up there.’

‘Eight thousand galleons a year, you pay me,’ said James. ‘To fetch you coffee and snacks.’

‘Aren’t you a lucky boy?’

James rolled his eyes at his father’s teasing, but wasn’t that keen on going to the overcrowded training room, so dutifully headed to the cafe.

Over the next two days, he did train, his mind whirring from the lack of a good case to work on, growing so restless that on Sunday, where he was down to have a day off, he came in anyway, giving the excuse that he was visiting his girlfriend’s parents so he could avoid lunch at the Burrow without alerting his dad. Dad always nagged him about using his time off properly.

He went through all his most commonly used spells and learnt a few new ones, tested his reaction times against other aurors, worked out in the gym, read through the file that magically updated with new information for them, drip feeding details about where they were going and what they were doing. By Monday he was desperate to go and have a good scrap - just a ball of pent up frustration and boredom.

He was sure he couldn’t be the only one. As he looked around the briefing room, he could see many faces set in determination - the usual banter and chatter was gone, they were listening to his dad with rapt attention.

‘As you’ve seen in the files, Gnaeus is likely to be in the centre of the fortress, and it’s likely to be well protected. Apparation isn’t going to be possible. Teams A, B, and D will be entering via the gatehouse, Team C flying in from above, F will be checking for routes at the base of the cliff, I’m sure there’ll be a passageway there.’

He was pointing to a huge map of the fortress on the wall, where coloured arrows wriggled and moved as he spoke.

‘E, G and H, you’re all reinforcements, dealing with whatever’s being thrown back at us-’ James’s heart exploded with fury - he’d been put in reinforcements again! He was sick of this - if he ended up getting killed on this job it would be because his dad refused to let him build up and proper experience. He’d done far more impressive things when he was half James’s age, it wasn’t fair to keep all the adventure and glory to himself.

‘It’s highly likely there’ll be some pretty dark magic on scene,’ he continued, apparently oblivious to James’s scowl. ‘So we’re being joined by the Medi Team and some curse breakers - they’ll be hanging at the back, obviously, but Team H in particular needs to be ready to provide them with cover if they need to run in.’

Hands raised, and James only half listened to the question about whether or not they’d been given authority to use lethal force. He’d been waiting for this all week, but Davies team, E, had been pushed back to “reinforcements”. He doubted he’d even get to go in the fortress or see this supposedly terrifying dark wizard, Gnaeus.

‘Move out,’ his father boomed, and they all rose, casting a few more shield charms over themselves as they walked to the apparation point. As James walked out, he suddenly became aware of his father beside him, and he turned, ready to have a go, but his expression was so grim that the words died in his throat.

‘Be careful,’ Dad said, gripping his shoulder. ‘Please.’

‘Yeah, of course.’

He squeezed his shoulder again, and then slipped away into the crowd. James walked over to Davies and the rest of his team, and, with them, vanished with a crack.

The night air was bitterly cold - the wind pulled droplets of water from the raging sea and sprayed them with it, even this far up on the cliffs. The wind battered their ears so that they could barely hear one another, and, in the darkness, a partly ruined castle loomed before them, squatter and boxier than Hogwarts had ever been.

James crouched low - their robes had magically rippled from scarlet to black, and all of them crept towards the castle. Davies held up a fist, and the team stopped. ‘We hold this position,’ he said.

James rolled his eyes. They were barely anywhere near it.

Silently, hidden in the dark from his coworkers as much as from the enemy, he carefully trod on the muddy ground and slipped further to the front.

He could see his father, standing with some of the other most senior aurors, surveying the castle. It was so dark that he couldn’t make them out - he had only recognised his father’s silhouette, but the roaring wind seemed to carry his low voice.

‘-can feel it, the dark magic. It’s everywhere.’

‘Do you think he could have been telling the truth? Where would he have got that many?’

‘That’s something we can ask him when we bring him in. But spread the word - I think it is. Inferi.’

James’s heart plummeted. This really was darker than anything he had ever dealt with. It was fire, wasn’t it? That was what they had learnt in N.E.W.Ts. That’s what stopped them.

Someone on a broom landed close by - he heard their feet thump on the ground and a voice, a woman’s voice, speak. ‘There’s piles of them,’ she said. He heard his father swear.

‘We can’t call it off,’ said Wright sharply.

‘No, certainly not,’ said Dad. ‘We’ll deal with it. Spread the word to the teams, we advance in two minutes.’

‘Yes, boss.’

The woman took to the skies again, and Wright and the other auror turned on their heels. James looked back to the castle. Was it crawling with inferi? Were the rumours that Gnaeus was a necromancer why Dad had been so stressed lately?

‘James,’ came a sharp voice. He looked up - he hadn’t noticed his father turn, but was bewildered as to how he had spotted him in such darkness - he couldn’t see his expression, but he could tell from the tone he was furious.

‘I-’

‘Get to the back with the rest of your team,’ he ordered. ‘Seeing as you’ve eavesdropped, you can tell them what we’re expecting, too.’

‘All right,’ said James, scrambling up. He turned, but he felt his arm being grabbed, and was pulled back to face his father. His expression was hidden in shadows still, but he could just see the green of his eyes.

‘Please,’ he said achingly. ‘Please stay back. And remember - fire does the trick.’

If I get killed, dad will never get over it, he thought to himself as he scurried back. He whispered what he had been told to the rest of his team, vaguely surprised that Davies didn’t call him out for wandering off (but perhaps they were all too nervous), and crouched beside them, waiting.

They watched and waited in breathless silence as Team A and a couple of curse breakers quietly worked on the castle’s protective enchantments. James could see a slight rippling in the air, as though a vast bubble were over the gloomy setting.

Finally, the curse breakers were running back. He heard them pass him with panting breath and heavy boots, and then ahead, virtually impossible to see now, a shifting mass as the aurors advanced.

Suddenly, horrifically, terrifyingly, something was pouring over the walls of the castle. It looked like liquid, liquid with huge chunks of something in it, or a swarm of insects, but as the front teams suddenly blasted fire and illuminated them, James could see that they were corpses.

Something coursed through his veins, at once very hot and very cold. Even from this distance he could see their rotting skin, their exposed bone and mangled hair, so many of them, falling and climbing over each other mindlessly, reaching out with their decayed hands.

His lips opened as though to swear, but all he could do was stare, rooted to the spot in agonised silence as he watched.

A huge, explosive, rippling burst of fire bowled forwards, knocking a clear pathway through. As the figure who cast it stormed ahead, he could see it was his father, swiftly followed by others casting great ropes of flame.

From above, shadowy shapes were dropping balls of flame too, and then Davies was yelling an order, and even though James couldn’t have told you what it was, he was casting bolts of fire too, sending them coursing over the aurors heads and onto the battlements, where more and more inferi seemed to be swarming from the crevices.

‘Forward!’

James obeyed, marching forward with the rest of them, still casting the flames, wondering if the castle itself was packed with inferi too, and how Dad and the others were going to fight their way back out with the dark wizard too.

There were yells from the gatehouse, and then to his right Team H was in a tortoise maneuver, their shield charms up, with the Healers in the middle. James rushed forward with a few of the others to provide them with fire cover, and in doing so approached the gate far closer than he knew his father would be happy with.

Up closer, he could actually smell the inferi, the sweet, rotting smell, the scent of burnt flesh and hair, the putrid breath (was it breath?) that seemed to emanate from them. Now that he was so much closer, he was able to set some of them on fire directly; they flailed around as though they were living, running and stumbling before laying perfectly still as they burned. Their cloudy white eyes shone in the darkness until they were completely blackened into ash - it was like hundreds of tiny white candles gradually being snuffed out.

There did seem to be fewer now, he thought, and it was a good thing too because he was sure they had been there for about half an hour. Every now and then the Healers were rushed in and back with someone - sometimes the person was patched up and pushed back into the fray, other times James risked a glance behind them and saw them sitting on stretchers, watching blearily, clutching limbs and pressing bloodied rags to their faces.

‘Why aren’t they taking them to St Mungo’s?’ he roared to Jerome, who had just booted an inferius to the ground before setting it on fire.

‘Don’t want to be short on Healers, if they can wait, they can wait,’ Jerome shouted back.

It seemed to get easier as time went on - now that the inferi were less of a wave, they were easier to pick off, and soon it was just a few stragglers leaping from the battlements.

‘Fall back!’ called Davies. ‘The top teams are dealing with inside, make sure they’ve got space to run out onto.’

James had never really realised as a child, but he had quickly learnt that battles and fights tended to fizzle out rather than end with a moment of glory, with a few notable exceptions involving his father.

So he stood with Crispin and Deanna, quietly exchanging battle notes as they watched the patches of fire flicker against the stone walls.

‘What d’you think’s happening in there?’ asked Crispin, nodding to the fortress. Some of the windows occasionally lit up with flashes of colour.

‘I don’t know, it’s driving me mad,’ said James. ‘Wish we could go in and help.’

‘The top dogs have got it, we’d just confuse things,’ said Deanna. ‘I think we’ve done a pretty decent job though, don’t you? Look how many there are.’

Yes, thought James with a satisfied grin. The ground was littered with the remnants of dark magic, dark magic that could have caused devastation, but they had stopped it. He had finally grasped what his father had been saying for so many years, that it wasn’t about the glory moments, but the satisfaction of a job well-

‘Auror down! Auror down!’

The three of them looked to the gatehouse, where people were running. Two people seemed to be carrying another between them as they ran, grasping their arms, dragging their legs along the ground, their head flopping forwards.

‘Oh, god,’ groaned Deanna, as Crispin hissed.

‘Auror down?’ asked James. ‘Bloody hell, it must have been nasty in there-’

‘I wonder who it was,’ said Crispin. ‘Fuck…’

‘I don’t think they’re dead, or they wouldn’t be running with them,’ said Deanna. ‘Look - that man in the white robes - they’ve got him in handcuffs, that must be Gnaeus-’

James looked away from the shadowy figures of the dead, or close to dying, auror, and could indeed see a skeletal-looking man in white robes, his cruel face illuminated by a nearby burning inferius. Wright was on one side of him, and old Dawlish on the other, his arms were bent behind him so he had clearly been arrested.

‘Job done then,’ said James.

‘Oh, god,’ he heard Deanna say in quiet horror. ‘Who is that? What happened to them?’

James looked back - the two aurors carrying the third had almost met them now, and the person they were carrying was barely recognisable - coated in blood, looking as though chunks had been ripped out of them, barely together, their dark hair matted with blood…

James stepped forward, his eyes falling to the auror’s limp hand, where a recognisable silver wedding band shone in the dim light.

‘Dad?’ he said blankly.

The two aurors had been met by sprinting Healers, and they lay his father heavily, clumsily on the ground. He didn’t have his glasses on. The Healers crouched over him immediately; one of them lifted his limp hand and touched her fingers to his wrist.

‘Dad,’ he said again, louder, stepping forward as though in a daze.

‘Fib charm,’ the Healer said briskly, dropping his wrist, and another pointed their wand at him. Pulses of blue light came from the tip and sank into his chest.

Everything had gone eerily quiet, except for the ringing in his ears. He stood there, and watched, as another Healer produced a long rubber tube, forced open his father’s bloody and mangled jaw, and forced it down his throat.

‘Come on, son,’ one of the senior aurors was saying to him. He sounded far away, but he couldn’t have been, because his hand was gently pulling on his bicep. ‘Come on, you don’t want to watch this… Don’t look…’

‘Dad…’

The Healer was pouring potions down his throat using the horrible rubber tube, while another was casting incantations over his body, and the last was still sending that pulsing blue into his chest, and all of them were shouting things to one another.

For some reason, James kept thinking about his dad lying in bed, yawning sleepily and rolling over in yellow morning light, smiling in exasperation as James, so tiny that it was an effort to clamber onto the bed, tried to shake him awake.

He was breathing heavily, but his father wasn’t. His father was invincible. He had survived a deadly curse twice. Le Survivant, that’s what all of Vic’s family called him. He was a world famous hero, a figure of legend, with so many brave stories, that had grabbed him as a giggling little boy and hauled him onto the bed, and jokingly scolded him for waking them too early, and laughed as he seized James’s kicking feet and tickled them.

‘Alert!’ shouted one of the Healers, and the blue pulsing stopped.

They pulled the tube out, and then one of the Healers was leaning close, calling, ‘Harry!’ over and over again. To James’s shock, he saw his father’s hand twitch, the wedding band glinting in the light from the fires, and the Healer leaned his head close to Dad’s mouth, his eyes glancing over to James.

‘Yes, he’s right there, I can see him,’ said the Healer, nodding. ‘Yeah, fine.’

Then he looked back down at Dad suddenly, and was shouting again. ‘Harry! Keep ‘em open! Harry!’

The Healers were cutting off the shirt part of his robes - blood bubbled from his chest, it looked like chunks had been gouged out of him somehow - surely there were organs there? Surely no one could…

They were touching their fingers to his wrist again, and the blue pulsing spell was back, and growing more rapid, and James thought that the Healers were starting to look quite angry, quite frustrated, their lips moving rapidly as they cast the spells.

He knew that his lips were moving, that he was shouting something, that he was moving with some kind of trembling shake and that someone’s arms were around him, but all he was truly aware of was the Healers, up to their elbows in blood, suddenly standing with his father on a stretcher between them, and all of them linking hands over his mangled body, and then in an instant they were gone.

He stumbled dizzily; he tried to apparate but simply spun in a circle. Deanna grabbed his arm. ‘Look at me,’ she said, and he did, and then suddenly felt the terrible squeeze and dizziness of apparation, and then the bright whiteness of St Mungos.

What happened next was a bit of a blur, that when he thought back later he could remember only highly detailed snatches of. The gulping blub of the water cooler. His sister, still in her trainee Healer uniform, running into the ward, babbling that she’d just heard and demanding to know why they wouldn’t let her help. The fabric, up very close from where he was leaning his head, of the uncomfortable chair in the waiting room. His own dirty fingernails. Mum turning up, white faced, and then Teddy, in tears, and then Albus, being supported by a grim-faced Scorpius, breathing shakily and asking what had happened. The rattle of trolleys as they passed and the squeak of the Healers’ shoes on the floor.

He couldn’t be… This couldn’t be it. This felt too dreamlike, he was sure it wasn’t really happening. He tried to think of more memories of dad, like the one that had sprung unexpectedly to mind, but to his horror he found that Dad was always slightly out of frame. Perhaps he had been too selfish, too self-centred as a child, because he could remember sitting on the chair outside the Headmistress’s office, and he could remember his father’s legs stepping out from behind the gargoyle, could remember the folded arms and his chest as he pulled him towards the stairs, but he couldn’t remember his face. He could remember the glint of the snitch as he chased it around the living room, and could almost see his dad, as though in soft focus, in the background, laughing, but couldn’t see his face. He could remember the long drives back from the station, could remember the books on his lap and joking with Teddy and teasing Al, and his father’s green eyes flicking to look at him in the rearview mirror, but he couldn’t remember any more than that.

He had spent the entire evening worrying about himself, convinced that he was going to get himself killed or injured and his dad would be plunged into self-hatred, or worse, anger at him, and not once had it occurred to him that the danger his father was pushing him away from was a danger to him too.

He felt Lily curling beside him as she hugged him and his mother on the other side kissing his head, and he realised that he was sobbing, loudly.

Finally, a Healer approached them, and spoke to his mother. ‘He’s awake,’ he said. ‘A little confused and still in a delicate position but I think we’re through the worst of it.’

‘Thank you, Healer Gower,’ she said.

They followed him down the corridor, and he, relaxed and apparently not uncomfortable with the sobbing family, conversationally said, ‘a few years ago he would have been horribly scarred after all that, but times do move on. Amazing, eh? We were able to regrow the tissue eventually, as there wasn’t any actual spell damage.’

He led them into a little room, where his father lay, pale and with closed eyes against the pillow, his chest rising and falling. James rushed forward to be on his father’s right side, as his head seemed slightly leaned that way, and without thinking, without being embarrassed, grasped his hand as he took the seat closest to his father’s face.

At the movement, his father’s eyes flickered gently open, and stared at James for a second. Then he frowned slightly. ‘You all right?’ he asked, his voice hoarse.

James nearly laughed. What a stupid question. ‘Yeah.’

‘What’re you crying for?’

Now James did laugh - a spluttered, half-crying laugh. His father squeezed his hand slowly, as though it took him a great deal of effort, and slowly rolled his head to look at the rest of the family that had gathered close around his bed too, all of them reach out to touch him.

‘What are you lot all doing here?’ he asked.

Mum leaned forward, stroking his hair and looking down with a gentle expression. ‘You gave us all a bit of a scare,’ she said softly.

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Did I? I’m sorry.’ He frowned. ‘Oh, yes, they were ripping chunks out of me. The inferi.’

‘That’s right.’

He winced, and his eyes flicked back up at his wife. ‘Do I look like Mad-Eye now?’

She laughed. ‘No.’

‘Thank god for that,’ he muttered, his eyes drooping closed again.

‘You tired?’ Mum asked.

‘Mmm,’ he replied, his eyes still closed. ‘The kids all right?’

‘We’re all fine, Dad,’ said Lily tearfully.

He nodded, and gave a sigh. ‘James, I told you not to be a bloody auror.’ And then, despite their gentle prompts, he slipped into sleep.

***

Several days later, James was walking easily down the hospital corridor clutching a large card and an even larger slab of chocolate. When he reached his father’s room, he found him sitting up and grinning cheerfully, chatting with Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione.

‘I suppose I’ll have to sign you off work for a bit longer,’ said Aunt Hermione dryly. ‘At least another week, Healer Gower said.’

Dad grinned. ‘Oh, but Hermione, we had my appraisal on Wednesday, I’d be gutted to miss it-’

‘That’s all right, I can bring it in and we can do it here, I know you’ve been looking forward to it.’

‘I reckon I’m going to be unconscious again that day.’

‘Convenient that you can plan it like that.’

‘Told you he was milking it,’ chipped in Uncle Ron.

James knocked on the door, even though it was open, and they all looked over at him and smiled.

‘Hello, mate,’ said Dad cheerfully.

‘Everyone at work signed a card for you,’ James said. ‘There’s a collection too, I used some of it to get the chocolate, but the rest-’

‘Ah, put it in the fountain,’ said Dad easily.

James grinned. ‘I already did.’

‘Good lad,’ he said, taking the card and opening it. ‘Ahh… Look, Dawlish just signed his name. No message, just Dawlish. Not even a first name.’

Uncle Ron sniggered. ‘Can’t believe he’s still there.’

‘I think he refuses to retire just to spite me,’ said Dad, smirking.

‘Speaking of which,’ said James hesitantly, taking a seat by the bed. ‘I was thinking maybe you should retire.’

Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione chuckled and said ‘oooh’ rather darkly, as though James had been incredibly cheeky. Dad had just turned to stare at him incredulously. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I was just thinking, it might be the right time-’

‘Do you think this happened because I’m old?’ Dad demanded.

‘Well... Yeah,’ said James awkwardly.

‘Look, I used to nearly die much more regularly - I think I’m getting a lot better at avoiding it.’

‘It’s true,’ said Uncle Ron sagely. ‘Honestly, James, at one point we all just stopped worrying. It got boring, frankly.’

‘Sometimes I didn’t bother to come to the hospital,’ said Aunt Hermione. ‘Ron would just give my best wishes.’

‘George made him a little counter for a laugh, it was on his desk for ages.’

‘This is my first slip up in years,’ Dad continued. ‘And it was only because someone on my team was a bloody moron and I was trying to stop them killing themselves - took my eye off the ball to send a few flames their way.’

‘Oh,’ said James. ‘Was that Pendleton? Because he hasn’t looked me in the eye since it happened, and he wrote ‘I’m really sorry’ in your card.’

‘Yeah, the muppet,’ said Dad. ‘He’s not going to bloody well get a promotion now, is he?’

Uncle Ron snorted. James continued to look uneasily at his father. ‘You don’t think… It’s getting a bit risky now? Now that you’re only out in the field for the really big stuff?’

‘The time to worry about that was when you were all really small - you know, when I had to provide for you all.’

‘I’d still be losing a lot.’

Dad looked over at Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, and Uncle Ron winked. ‘We’re going to go get a coffee. Want anything?’

‘Yeah, one of those pastries with the almonds,’ said Dad. When they had left, he turned back to James. ‘I know that must have been really horrible for you,’ he said gently. ‘I’m sorry. I hope you realise why I’m so funny about putting you on the rota now though. If our places had been switched I never would have forgiven myself.’

‘But-’

‘And the awful thing is,’ Dad continued, his voice sounding strangely strangled, ‘is that if you’re serious about this as a career, if you intend to progress beyond junior level… Something like this will happen to you. It’s part of the job, to just get beaten up for a living every now and then.’

‘I don’t care about it happening to me,’ said James. ‘It’s not the same as you, I don’t have a wife and kids.’

‘Well, not yet,’ said Dad. ‘I thought you were seeing - oh, what’s her name-’

‘Clara.’

‘Oh, I thought it was Effie or something.’

‘Aoife? No, she was a few months ago.’

‘Right, sure,’ said Dad, looking amused. ‘Anyway, you might do at some point, and even if you didn’t, you’d still have people who love you. Like me and your mum, and Al and Lily and Ted. Don’t get me started on Grandma-’

‘Yeah, I know,’ urged James. ‘But it’s not the same.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s just not, I… I just…’ Dad raised an eyebrow at him. He took a breath. ‘I just don’t want to lose a parent.’

‘Oh, James,’ he said, reaching to clasp his shoulder. ‘You will, one day, it’s just the way of it. People lose their parents. Everyone. Some sooner than others. But it’s meant to be that way round. Hopefully for you it won’t be until I’m in my 90s and you’re sick of looking after me by then anyway.’

James smiled weakly, and blinked hard. ‘Just don’t want to see you go down next to me, fighting some reanimated corpse.’

‘I don’t much fancy that way out either,’ said Dad lightly, lying back on the pillows. ‘I tell you what, I’ll retire if you resign.’

‘What?!’

‘Well, I’m not leaving if it means I can’t fiddle with the rota and keep you out of the way,’ said Dad stubbornly. ‘I mean, bloody hell, James, forget the inferi, you nearly gave me a heart attack when I turned around and saw you on the front line.’

‘I’m never gonna learn anything if you-’

‘Yeah, I know,’ he said impatiently. ‘And I’m getting better at it, aren’t I?’

‘Yeah,’ admitted James reluctantly. ‘Gradually. I still think you should retire. You just can’t admit you’re old and slow now.’

Dad broke off a bit of the chocolate and chewed it thoughtfully. ‘I’m still your boss. I could just fire you.’

James looked at him nervously, but Dad just winked, and chucked him a square of chocolate.


	9. Poster Boy

Ron spotted him immediately - he hadn’t been expecting to see him at all, but the second he entered the pub his eyes were drawn to the sullen face as though by instinct. He hesitantly followed Dean, Seamus and Neville to a table, where they, chatting and laughing casually, started to settle down and discuss who was getting the first round. 

‘Sorry,’ said Ron hesitantly, not taking a seat. 'I’ve just spotted my godson looking miserable.' 

They followed his gaze to James sitting alone in the corner, surrounded by several empty glasses and drinking from another. 'Harry’s boy?’ asked Seamus, surprised. 

'That’s the one,’ said Ron, and he looked apologetically back at them. 'I better go and-’

'Oh, yeah,’ they said quickly. 'Of course - go.' 

So Ron nodded, and went over to his nephew, coming quite close without James noticing. 'Hello, Trouble,’ Ron said to him, and James jumped. He had only just qualified as an Auror. Bit early to become an alcoholic, Ron reckoned. 

'Oh, 'lo Uncle Ron.' 

'Are you waiting for someone?' 

'No,’ said James vaguely, so Ron took a seat and placed a sickle in the centre of the table. A pint of stout magically appeared. James didn’t say anything, and for a few moments they sat in silence. 

Then suddenly James spluttered on his drink. 'Dad’s not here, is he?’ He glanced around the pub rapidly, looking over at the bathrooms with a mild panic, as though expecting to see Harry walking over with a wave.

'No,’ said Ron. 'He’s working, doesn’t reckon he’ll get away until gone eleven.' 

'Oh, right, yeah, those interviews - he’s been interrogating that bloke all day,’ said James, rubbing his face wearily. 'Glad I’m not on that case.' 

'Yeah, he said he having a bit of a nightmare day when he floo’d,’ said Ron carefully. 'You don’t want to see him though?' 

'Not til I’ve cheered up,’ said James sourly, and when Ron continued to look at him, he added, with significant bitterness, 'I’m single again.' 

Ron nodded sympathetically, desperately trying to remember the latest girl’s name. 'I see,’ he said in the end. 

'It’s not Dad’s fault or anything,’ said James hastily. 'I’m not… Not angry or anything, I just…’ He winced. 

Ron frowned. 'Has she dumped you… Because of your dad?’

James gave a sardonic laugh as he tore up a beer mat. 'Erm… Other way round, actually… You’re going to laugh,’ he warned.

'I’m sure I won’t,’ said Ron. 

'No, you definitely will, it’s really funny.’ His eyes narrowed. 'You can’t tell Dad though. Even though it’s really funny and you will really, definitely want to.' 

Something clicked in Ron’s mind, and he grimaced. 'Did she call you Harry or something?' 

'So much worse.' 

Ron raised his eyebrows. 'I don’t know whether to be intrigued or scared.' 

James sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck - Ron could see the traces of a dark, reluctant smile on his face. 'So… She’s been to mine a few times… But, you know, I’ve been trying to learn my lessons and-’ James very quickly went crimson, swiftly avoiding Ron’s gaze. 'I’ve been trying not to rush into things and get ahead of myself and move too fast, all of that sort of stuff.' 

'Good,’ nodded Ron, aware that James’s tendency to fall in love at the drop of a hat and leap into bed had caused several bouts of heartbreak over the last few years. 

'Yeah, well, maybe I should have so that I could find out how mental she was quicker,’ his voice sharp and bitter again. He took a long, slow gulp from his beer, and then continued. 'We go to hers, and… I mean, she mentioned that she collects vintage posters and stuff before, which I thought was, you know, a nice quirky habit, a bit of flavour… But I go into her room, and fucking Dad is staring down at me from every wall.' 

Ron couldn’t help it, he had really promised himself, he had really tried, not to laugh like James said he would, but his face ached as he tried and failed to stop the bark of laughter that sprung forth. 

James did not look upset, or surprised - his slightly despairing little smile was back as he looked down at his beer. 'Just dozens of posters and stuff, old D.A and Potterwatch stuff, you know-’

'Hey, that was all unofficial,’ Ron said. 'We didn’t pose for any of that shit, your dad definitely didn’t-’

'I know!’ said James swiftly. 'But, you know… I’m not exactly going to be able to… concentrate… when my eighteen year old dad is smouldering down at me in a leather jacket.’

'Oh, I remember that one,’ said Ron. 'Someone got some shots of him on his motorbike, and I think the pictures kept Witch Weekly in business for weeks. We bullied him mercilessly for it.’

'Yeah, well, quite frankly I found it disturbing. I told Aoife it was weird-’

Aoife, that was it, thought Ron with quick relief. Not that it mattered anymore, he supposed… 

'And she said just ignore them, she’s just really interested in the war and and it’s all academic!' 

'Oh, well that’s an alarm bell and a half,’ said Ron. 

'Right?’ James shook his head. 'It’s just annoying, 'cos…’ he blushed again, taking a deep breath, looking distinctly uncomfortable. 'I dunno, I thought she was really nice.' 

'Ah, I’m sorry, mate,’ said Ron quietly. 'You could talk to your dad about it, you know-’

'No way,’ said James swiftly. 'He’s had it in the neck from Al for years about the whole fame thing, and anyway I-’ Ron didn’t think James could get any redder, but somehow he did. 'Anyway, I’ve used that card.' 

'I’m sorry?' 

James swayed awkwardly, grimacing as he spoke quietly. 'That’s how I picked her up,’ he said. 'Aoife. She wasn’t interested in me when I was just asking her name, so then I just said “well I’m James Potter, anyway, it was nice to meet you”, and then all of a sudden she was all giggly and smiley and asking me what it’s like to have the Chosen One as a father.' 

Ron stared at him for a few moments, and then a low chuckle started in the back of his throat. 'Well, yes, James, you’re going to end up with crazies if that’s your angle.’

James shrugged. 'Seemed like it was worth the risk at the time because I was just looking for… A brief thing. But then she was really nice… And insane,’ he added. He frowned. 'No wonder she was always asking when she could meet my parents.’

'Maybe you should date a muggle,’ Ron suggested. 'Your grandad would be thrilled.' 

'Yeah, I’ve thought about that,’ said James. 'But I have no idea what to say to them. I never took muggle studies. I should have paid attention more when Dad dragged us to Surrey all the time.' 

'Eugh, no, you don’t want muggles like that.' 

'Well, no. But I would like to know what they mean when they tell me what they do for a living or what their favourite fellytision programs are. Every time I’ve tried to speak to one for more than a few minutes I can tell they think I’m insane. Ah well. Doesn’t matter. I’ll be all right.' 

'Yeah, course you will,’ said Ron calmly. 'You were right, though.’

'About what?' 

'I do really, really, want to tease your dad about this.'


	10. Patronus

Some Dementors had tried to settle on a closed pier in a grotty little seaside town. Hazel supposed it must have once been fun; a cheap little day out or holiday for families, with a little funfair at the end of the pier and penny slot machines that now rusted away in long-closed arcades, the grey sea crashing below them, sending a chilly mist over the place. Barely any of these places thrived anymore; they’d gone out of fashion, Muggle families could now fly abroad for just as cheap, kids wanted something more exciting than spinning teacups in the drizzle. 

But perhaps there was leftover happiness in the air, for something had attracted the vile creatures to the place; they had crept across that steely grey sea from the North where they had been banished decades ago, and now skulked unpleasantly around the slimy, damp posts and slippery, rotten boards of the pier. 

James was delighted because he so rarely seemed to be assigned any fieldwork, so when Auror Hodges had sent them, Crispin and Dee (and Auror Cattermole to supervise), he had let out a whoop of delight. Now he watched them, their black cloaks billowing eerily around them in the unnatural mist that had mingled with that of the sea, drifting silently up and down the promenade. The Aurors stood on the damp shingle, far enough away that they had not yet been sensed, but close enough to feel that creeping chill and heavy sort of feeling Hazel had come to associate with anxiety and dread. They watched and waited for Auror Cattermole’s instructions. 

‘Eurgh,’ James said gleefully, turning to Hazel. ‘Nasty creatures, aren’t they?’

‘They’re not my favourite,’ she muttered. ‘But they turn up every now and then, just part of the job to clear them out.’ 

‘That’s my Dad’s fault,’ he said cheerfully. ‘He insisted they-’

‘Leave the prison, I know,’ she said. ‘I’ve read about it, about all the reforms around the turn of the century, it was all very forward-thinking, it’s a big reason why I wanted to train under his leadership rather than joining the governments’ in Portugal or France-’ 

‘Nerd,’ he told her. 

‘OK,’ called Auror Cattermole, her eyes narrowed, ‘forward to the pier in a V formation - start casting your Patronus’s as they advance, but take it nice and slow. Don’t let any get behind us. I would rather stop and wait than have any idiots charge ahead through them and get to the end, all right?’ 

Their feet sank in the pebbles as they walked across the beach towards the pier, and the moment Auror Cattermole pointed her wand at the padlock of the gates, the spark and clatter of the chains and the creak as they swung out alerted the Dementors, who swung their endless, void-like hooded faces towards them and began to advance, reaching out their scaly hands. 

_‘Come on. This way.’ She felt a firm hand on her shoulder, could see the stairwell…_

She thought hard about finding out she had been accepted onto the British Auror training program, her entire, gathered family bursting into screams of delight and descending into a massive, chaotic hug, shouting incomprehensibly-

‘Expecto Patronum,’ she called, and from her wand came her dog Patronus, muscular and lean, with large ears and long legs, bounding ahead and then crouching low like a predator with her hackles raised. 

‘What’s that?’ James asked, his eyes following her Patronus. 

‘It’s a dog, Potter.’ 

‘Yes, I can see that. I meant what kind?’

‘A Weimaraner,’ she said. 

‘Bless you.’ 

She rolled her eyes. ‘It’s a hunting breed. For large game.’ 

‘Oh, well, keep it the fuck away from mine then, please,’ he said, still with an unusually cheerful tone for someone so close to Dementors. 

‘Excuse me?’ she said, baffled, but he ignored her. 

‘Expecto Patronum!’ A large stag burst from the tip of his wand, and cantered easily down the pier, his majestic antlers held proudly high. He seemed to find the whole experience quite easy; he was even enjoying it. Though he remarked frequently how revolting the Dementors were, his Patronus came easily and frequently, and he stopped occasionally to look at the old Muggle fairground rides, saying things like ‘d’you reckon that still works?’ or ‘I threw up in my Mum’s hands on one of them once.’

Hazel, who was perfectly capable of a Patronus but nevertheless always found being around Dementors distressing at the very least, found this irritating, especially when she heard him shout and she turned in a panic merely to see that he had found a faded, risque board to put his face through. 

‘Take a picture!’ he shouted, his stag charging down a Dementor behind him. 

‘Potter!’ Auror Cattermole shouted back. ‘Will you focus?’ 

‘I am!’ he protested. ‘Making happy memories as I go!’ 

Slowly they advanced, the dog and the stag mixed with Crispin’s pheasant and Dee’s vixen, and, leading the charge, Auror Cattermole’s sailfish cutting through the air as though it were water, thrashing and darting and sending the Dementors scattering. 

‘Here,’ said James, but when Hazel looked, he was not talking to her but Dee, who had dropped to her knees and was breathing heavily. He held out chocolate. 

‘T-thank you,’ she said, taking it with trembling fingers. ‘Sorry. Stupid-’

‘Don’t be silly, not stupid at all - they’re horrid,’ he said reassuringly. ‘Eat up.’ 

‘Well, you’re all right,’ she said, and though she was saying it lightly, Hazel could hear an edge of resentment on her voice as he helped her up. 

‘Yeah, ‘cos I’m a spoilt brat,’ he said happily. ‘But I know they’re fucking awful, don’t worry. You good?’ 

‘Yeah,’ she said, chewing on another large mouthful of chocolate, the colour returning to her cheeks. ‘Yeah, I’m good.’ 

Finally they were watching the Dementors vanishing again, way out to sea, taking much of the mist with them. Hazel had managed quite well, she thought, but she was still trembling a little, and kept swallowing heavily, her eyes darting about in case another one was hiding behind the broken claw machine or would pop out suddenly from the smashed ticket window. James handed her chocolate too, he was giving it to everyone, and she took it gratefully. 

‘They’re just foul, aren’t they?’ he said half an hour later as they walked through the atrium back towards their office. ‘I definitely didn’t need to be reminded of what a little prick I was at school.’ 

‘That was what they made you think of?’ she asked, surprisingly outraged. ‘Why didn’t you stop being a prick while we were there then?’ 

He shrugged, and grinned at her. ‘Funny.’ 

‘Barely.’ 

‘You’ll come round to my brand of humour eventually, Duarte,’ he said easily. 

It had been four months of this unbearably annoying little twerp constantly by her side. ‘I doubt it,’ she said, highly affronted.


	11. The Veil

‘The Unspeakables went into work this morning and found there’s been a break in overnight,’ said Auror Hodges, the moment James entered and dumped his bag on the desk. ‘The overnight team spent the last hour of their shift running around the department, but it doesn’t look like anyone’s there, so it’s an intelligence gathering matter.’

‘How do they know there was a break in?’ asked Hazel. ‘Did they steal something?’

‘Oh, no, if it was theft we’d get the law enforcement patrol to sort it, or a very new trainee,’ said Auror Hodges. ‘No, it looks like there was some dark magic, or at least an attempt at it. It’s mostly concentrated in the Chamber of Ending, but we’ll be searching as much of the department as the Unspeakables will allow for any evidence.’

‘Nice,’ said James. ‘Spooky.’

‘We’ve already got anyone who has capacity down there, so if you want to see anything spooky you’d better get a wiggle on,’ she said briskly.

‘You two go ahead,’ said James, ‘I promise I’ll be right down, I just need to put my lunch in the cold cupboard.’

He glanced through the little window of his Dad’s office door as he passed, as the blind had not been drawn, but saw the desk empty, so continued on towards the break room. The department was quiet, clearly manny people had proceeded down to the Department of Mysteries, but there were still a few people dotted about, working on their own assigned cases. Crispin was yawning widely by the coffee pot as he entered.

‘Morning,’ James said. ‘Were you on the night shift? What’s all this about a break in?’

‘Mm? Oh, yah,’ said Cripsin, who still sounded ridiculously posh even when he’d been working for fourteen hours apparently. ‘I was just packing up to go home, you know, when one of the Unspeakables came rushing up in a panic - he’d come in early and just found it all. Dreadfully annoying that whoever did it was just a few floors away from us and we didn’t know. No alarms sounded or anything.’

James frowned, shoving his tupperware into the cupboard enchanted with a cooling charm. ‘I think my parents broke into that department as children. That’s where the hall of prophecies is, isn’t it?

Crispin nodded as he yawned again. ‘Yah, well it’s a bit of a warren down there. I reckon whoever it was got a bit lost, a load of the rooms had evidence of someone being in there. Anyway, have fun crawling around on the floor looking for cigarette butts, I’m going home and heading straight to bed.’

So James headed down, and found himself walking down long corridors, swarming with Aurors and Unspeakables, ended by plain black doors, many of which kept spinning or vanishing. He was pointed in the right direction, and escorted the last leg of the journey by a sour faced Unspeakable, who snapped at him not to play with anything when James flicked the glass of a large bell jar with a jewelled egg inside, and led him to a cavernous stone room, with benches that stepped down like a great lecture theatre.

‘Hey,’ he said to Hazel, who was running her wand over one of the benches. ‘What’s happening, then?’

‘Have you seen it?’ asked Hazel, nodding towards the centre of the room. ‘Creepy.’

Up on the dias, there was a stone archway, its ragged black veil looking, to James at least, as though it had been shrouded for a funeral. Around it, in red, dotted with melted, burnt out candles and splatters of blood, were strange markings. Circles and ancient runes, shining red but curiously dipped, as though they had been engraved or scorched into the stone, spilling outwards from the archway.

He felt oddly drawn to it, and as he drew closer, he could see the tattered edges swaying slightly, as though there were a breeze.

‘James…’

He couldn’t be sure he had heard it, a soft, echoing whisper, beckoning, reaching, summoning. Whether it was in his head or from behind the veil he wasn’t sure, so he stepped closer still to hear what they were saying.

_‘…veterem amicum fieri… James…’_

He was just feet away when a hand seized him roughly around the bicep, and he started as he turned and saw his father’s stony expression. ‘Don’t go near it,’ he said sternly. ‘It’s dangerous.’

‘I wasn’t going to-’

‘Where’s Hodges?’

‘She - over there - I was only-’

‘Check the ground up there,’ Dad told him, gesturing to the far end of the hall. ‘Leave this to the Senior Aurors, this is important evidence.’ He, unusually roughly, pushed James away, and looked over his shoulder towards Auror Hodges. ‘Theia!’ he bellowed, his voice echoing around the eerie hall.

James saw Auror Hodges stop examining the door, and and head over towards them. He wanted to stay, wanted to hear what they thought of the markings around the archway, but Dad had a stony expression on his face so he obediently headed back up the large stone steps, dropped to his hands and knees, and used his wand light to examine the stone work for evidence. Footprints, anything dropped, a hair, anything.

Fat chance anyone came up here, he thought bitterly.

‘Psst.’

He turned; Hazel was on her hands and knees.

‘Were you checking out my arse?’ he whispered at her.

‘I mistook it for your face,’ she whispered back. ‘What d’you think then?’

‘Creepy as fuck,’ he whispered back with a grin. ‘Did you see those runes? That’s trying to do some ancient magic, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah. I don’t think it worked though.’

‘What?’

‘Well I heard some of the Senior Aurors saying it might be that Gnaeus person, the one claiming he’s a necromancer.’

‘Ahh,’ said James, looking back towards the dias where his father was talking in a low voice to Auror Hodges. ‘That’ll be why he’s all stressy.’ He looked back at her. ‘Why do they think that?’

‘I heard it off Judy that the veil has something to do with death, and that he might have been trying to use it to raise the dead. But one of the Unspeakables said it didn’t work like that.’ 

‘Oi, you two,’ said Wright, sloping towards them. ‘Go and join Judy and Matt, going through the other rooms - the Unspeakables reckon someone charged through them and tipped stuff over in a fury, could be more evidence. Stick together, be sensible.’

James nodded, and leapt up, and, with one last glance to his father who was crouched down, closely examining the runes, followed Hazel through one of the plain black doors.

***

James happened to bump into his uncle at the pub two days later. He excused himself from Hazel, Crispin and Dee, and hopped onto the empty bar stool beside Ron.

‘Oh, hello, Trouble,’ said Uncle Ron. ‘Post work drink?’

‘Yeah. What’re you doing drinking alone?’

Uncle Ron gave him an exasperated look. ‘I’m not drinking alone, I’m waiting for Bill, he’s late. How's all the Auror-ing going? You're nearly a year in, has your dad let you step away from your desk yet?’

‘I had a little jolly in the Department of Mysteries the other day,’ James told him cheerfully. ‘Saw those brains that got you.’

Uncle Ron looked at him oddly. ‘Did you?’

‘Yeah, there was a break in. I liked the planet room. I wonder what they get up to in there? I reckon Al should be one, but he seems pretty set on staring through his telescope for the rest of his life - maybe the planet room would convince him-’

‘How was your dad?’ asked Uncle Ron strangely. ‘Was he with you?’

James stared at him. ‘A bit grumpy.’

‘Mm.’

Uncle Ron looked back across the pub, and took a sip from his beer, apparently lost in thought.

‘Right,’ blurted out James suddenly, feeling utterly stupid, ‘’cos that’s where he found out about the prophecy, wasn’t it? No wonder he was in a bad mood.’

Uncle Ron looked back at him, surprised. ‘I was thinking more about Sirius, actually.’

‘Sirius? His godfather?’

‘Yeah, that’s where he died, wasn’t it?’

James opened, and then closed his mouth. ‘Was it?’ he said at last. ‘Is that the same story?’

Uncle Ron frowned. ‘You knew that. We’ve told you that story.’

‘No,’ said James. ‘I didn’t realise it was the same story. You’ve all told me about going to the department of Mysteries to rescue someone, and about all the weird rooms and getting injured and finding the prophecy and stuff, and then Dad’s told me another story about getting tricked into going somewhere, and…’ he trailed off, his mind lining up all the similarities between the apparently vastly different tales, one told to him as a young child with a sense of adventure, the other vague and somber. ‘Fuck,’ he said, ‘I’m an idiot.’

‘Language,’ said Uncle Ron lazily, though James knew he didn’t care really. ‘You’re not an idiot. We whitewashed stuff. Harry would have been gutted if any of you had cried or been frightened by the stories. As long as you all knew vaguely what happened, that was fine, but obviously things get muddled or missed out occasionally.’

‘Dad always said there was never a body to recover and that’s why there’s no grave to visit,’ said James. ‘Was it to do with that creepy veil thing in the Chamber of Endings?’

‘Oh, is that what that room’s called? They are a funny bunch down there. But yeah, Sirius fell through there.’ He eyed James. ‘Saw that, too, did you?’

‘Got a bit close. Dad pulled me away.’

Uncle Ron stared at him, and then to his surprise, chuckled darkly. ‘You’re going to give the poor bloke a heart attack one day.’

‘Well I feel like a right dickhead now!’ exclaimed James irritably. ‘Couldn’t anyone have warned me before we went down? Should I say something?’

‘Nah, leave it,’ said Uncle Ron easily, going back to his drink. ‘Harry would rather you all were blissfully unaware.’

‘Dad would rather I played Quidditch, but we don’t always get what we want,’ said James flippantly, and Uncle Ron laughed.

‘You going to have to go down there again?’

‘Dunno. Don’t think so. Not unless there’s another break in, I suppose.’

‘Yeah just leave it then, I reckon.’

‘They were close, weren’t they?’ James said. ‘Dad always talks about him very highly.’

‘Yeah, and you’ve got your middle name for him.’

‘Right, yeah, of course.’

‘He was a top bloke,’ said Uncle Ron, briefly looking lost in thought again. ‘Fucking tragic, everything that happened to him.’

‘Yeah, Dad’s said, about getting framed for murder and Azkaban and everything.’

‘Yeah. Anyway,’ said Uncle Ron briskly, ‘don’t dwell on it. What were you down there for? What was this break in all about?’

‘Can’t tell you, Uncle Ron.’

‘Was it about this Gnaeus bloke?’

‘How d’you know about that?’ asked James, in horrified surprise. Had he said something? Slipped up? Dad would be furious if he had.

Uncle Ron shrugged, unconcerned. ‘Oh, your dad was talking about him a while back. Getting his knickers in a twist about necromancy and stuff. Saying it was magic of the darkest type to be trying to bring people back from the dead. Your Uncle George told him he was fucked then.’


	12. En Plus

She’d heard the little thuds and the rustle of a coat, but she had been so immersed in typing up her interview notes that she did not turn around until she heard a high pitched squeal.

A young girl with lime green hair had burst into their cubicle and thrown herself at James, who scooped her up as he rose, beaming. ‘Hello! How did you get away from - ah, here he is!’

A young man had appeared at the doorway too, now, and he too had brightly coloured hair, though it was a soft blue. He beamed at James and the little girl, and said, ‘thought we’d come a bit early before your big moment - how’re you feeling?’

‘Fine, obviously,’ said James, though Hazel thought he had been unusually quiet all day. This was fair - she remembered being sick with nerves before her qualification ceremony too. ‘I think it’s Dad you should go and cheer up, he’s probably in his office sobbing.’

The young man laughed. ‘He’s proud of you, we all are. You’ll get a fancy gold stripe on your uniform and everything, won’t you?’

‘Yeah, but don’t have a shiny Order of Merlin medal to go with it yet.’

‘You can have one of mine, I’ve got two.’

Hazel was trying not to listen in on their conversation, trying to politely get on with her work, but it proved trick as the little girl was staring intently at her. Hazel gave a little wave, and the girl smiled, but shrank a little closer to James.

‘I don’t think you’re meant to loan them out like that,’ James said. ‘Though if you get to wear your dad’s, I think I should be allowed to borrow-’ He had realised that the little girl was leaning heavily in his arms to stare at Hazel, and he turned to follow her gaze. ‘Oh, Merlin, sorry - Hazel, this Teddy and Dora. Teddy, Dora, this is Hazel - she’s already qualified but we had the same mentor so they’re keeping us on the same desk and she’s lumped with me for years to come, probably.’

She smiled pleasantly at Teddy as he nodded at her and smiled back in a mild sort of way. ‘Hello - sorry, she’s going through a bit of a staring phase at the moment - Dora-’

‘It’s all right,’ said Hazel, smiling, ‘I know how they are, I’m from a big family. Hello,’ she added to the girl, ducking her head slightly to try and catch her eye. 

‘Hi,’ mumbled Dora into James’s shoulder.

‘I’ve heard a lot about you both,’ Hazel said. 

‘All good, I hope,’ said Teddy lightly. ‘Will you be coming to the ceremony?’

She hadn’t planned on it, but James had sort of raised his eyebrows and tilted his head at her in in a questioning, inviting sort of way, and she felt it might be considered a bit cold or aloof (words she often found thrown at her) to say that she would rather stay here and do admin work. ‘I thought I might pop by,’ she said.

‘She’s hoping I’ll fall over,’ said James, jerking his head Hazel as he turned back to Teddy, who immediately grinned teasingly at him.

‘Oh, elle est belle - essaye de ne pas ruiner sa carrière en couchant avec elle, okay?’

Hazel raised her eyebrows, and James gave a spluttered chuckle, grinning even more broadly than Teddy. ‘Mm… elle parle français en plus!’

The grin slid off Teddy’s face and was swiftly replaced with utter mortification. ‘Do you?’ he blurted at Hazel. ‘Speak French?’

She felt rather irritated at him, but decided to be gracious. ‘A little.’

James snorted; he looked absolutely delighted. ‘A little fluently. She went to Beauxbatons.’

Teddy’s face went pink, his hair rippled into a very bland grey-ish colour, a little like the colour of the cubicle walls, and this only made James laugh harder.

‘I’m so sorry - I wasn’t - I’m not - I was just trying to wind him up, I’m not a creep, or-’

‘It’s fine,’ she swiftly, though she felt rather awkward and embarrassed too. It was only James that seemed to be enjoying himself; Dora simply looked confused.

‘Oh, Ted, you misogynistic arsehole, just wait til I tell Mum - or better yet, Auntie Hermione-’

‘I’m really sorry!’ Ted was saying to her frantically, his cheeks nearly scarlet now.

‘-And it’s so rude to talk in a foreign language to cut someone out of the conversation anyway, isn’t that what you always told me? When we were kids, hmm? Didn’t you always say I’d be caught out doing that one day? Hmm?’

Despite herself, despite the mild offence and the uncomfortableness of the situation, James’s goading of Teddy was pulling a reluctant smile onto her face; Teddy’s reaction seemed so genuine, so deeply embarrassed, that she could only assume that it was indeed something that was far more intended to be a jab at James than a leer at her.

‘Ne t'inquiète pas - c'est bien,’ she said reassuringly.

‘Don’t let him get away with it, Hazel!’ said James indignantly. ‘If you want to go to HR about this, I am more than happy to support you as witness. And translator, if necessary.’

‘Right,’ said Teddy briskly, ‘lovely seeing you, James - just as much of a pleasure as usual.’ James snorted again, and Teddy pulled his daughter out of his arms. ‘Come on, you, let’s go and drop in on Grandad.’

‘Yeah, go warn him about the sexual harassment in the workplace case you’ve started.’

She couldn’t help it, she was laughing now as Teddy threw a furiously exasperated glare at James, and yet another apology to Hazel as he practically bolted from the room.

James was still laughing as he flopped back into his chair. ‘Incredible,’ he said happily. ‘This is the best day of my life. Sorry - if you were offended or embarrassed - he really didn’t mean it like that, he was just trying to wind me up about me jumping into bed without any thought of consequences.’

‘That’s what you do, is it?’ she asked, amused.

‘Ah…’ he said slowly, grinning and tilting his head as he swivelled his chair and looked back down at his paperwork. ‘I see you’re forgetting about Beth, the researcher posted with us for a bit…’

Hazel burst out laughing. ‘I’d forgotten about that! That was so awkward!’

Though he was blushing, he was laughing too. ‘Yeah, Dad had to have a… formal word with me about that…’

She spluttered, and clapped her hands over her mouth in appalled hilarity. ‘Nooo?’ she giggled into her hands, and he was nodding slowly, pinker than ever.

‘Yeah… apparently you have to declare office relationsh-’ he couldn’t finish the sentence because he was laughing so much, and so they both sat there in silent giggles, remembering the drama of Beth and her shouting in the middle of the office.

‘I suppose you could have found out about her personality before you-’

‘Yes, all right,’ he said heavily, still grinning. ‘I have been told… but yeah, that’s what he was doing, you know - he wasn’t trying to perv on you or anything, honestly, he’ll be full of feminist ally guilt about that for, oof, about a year, I reckon?’

‘It wasn’t that bad,’ she assured him, grinning. ‘And… I’m impressed to see that you can actually speak French - I always thought you were just…’ she gestured vaguely.

‘Being a knob? Yeah, I was.’

‘I’m getting used to it.’

‘Apt description of your sex life.’ She rolled her eyes.

‘Seriously, why did you pretend to be so bad at it?’

‘I dunno. Funny.’ He gave an easy shrug. ‘My aunt’s French, she taught us all, and then everyone’s parents encouraged us until they realised that none of them could speak French, but we could, so it just meant all the cousins could talk to one another in French without the adults knowing.’

‘Ah,’ she said knowingly. ‘So you’re both in the habit of talking shit behind people’s backs in French?’

‘In Teddy’s defense, he was usually the one telling us to stop doing that.’ He laughed again, shaking his head and staring off into the middle distance. ‘That’s what makes this so delicious.’

‘Anyway, shouldn’t you be changing into your formal robes?’

He checked his watch. ‘Oh, blimey, yeah - cheers. See you down there, then, yeah?’

She nodded, and smiled reassuringly at him. ‘Good luck,’ she said. ‘Don’t trip!’

‘Hah!’

He grabbed his bag and hurried out of the cubicle. She was left in the sudden absence of his laughter - she wouldn’t need to go down to the atrium herself for another twenty minutes. She rubbed the back of her neck, frowning down at a blank arrest sheet on the edge of her desk.

‘En plus,’ she muttered quietly to herself, and turned back to her typewriter, but then suddenly there was movement at the cubicle entrance again and she jumped to see James sticking his head round the edge of the doorway, grinning broadly at her.

‘Sorry - forgot to say - I know I’m just going to be back in here with you tomorrow like nothing’s changed anyway, but I just wanted to - it’s been fun. Training with you. Sorry - weird-’

‘No, it’s fine,’ she blurted out. ‘I - yeah, it has. Erm… congratulations on passing the exam and everything.’

His grin broadened somehow even further. ‘Well you already said that last month when I passed.’

She closed her eyes in a playfully exasperated sigh. ‘Congratulations on making it to qualification day - I’m surprised I didn’t kill you in the run up.’

‘Yeah, me too - anyway, see you down there!’

‘See you soon. Well done again.’

‘Thanks!’

And then once again, he was gone.


	13. Sarah

‘Look, James… you’re a really nice guy…’

His face froze. There was a horrible lurch in his stomach. He was suddenly aware that though he was holding her hand, they were not _holding_ hands. Hers was awkwardly trying to pull away, maybe subconsciously.

Sarah looked at him with earnest, light blue eyes. ‘Really,’ she emphasised, I don’t want you to ever think otherwise.’

‘Right,’ he said, though he couldn’t tell you why.

‘I just think maybe things are moving a bit… a bit fast.’

‘We’ve been dating two years,’ he said stupidly. ‘We’ve… we’ve…’

‘Right, yeah, and it’s been really fun, she said, with so much false emphasis that James felt angry.

‘We’re not moving at any different speed to what we have been doing-’

‘OK, well, maybe I didn’t mean it like that,’ she said, rather flustered, her cheeks pink. ‘I only meant… you’re… a bit intense.’

There was a long pause. ‘Well,’ he said hoarsely, ‘that can… I can work on that.’

‘No, James,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m sure someone will love all that, but I… I think things are over for us. I want to see what else is out there, you know?’

‘No, I don’t know,’ he said, utterly horrified.

‘I just think you have this vision of us getting married straight out of school like our parents generation did,’ she said quietly.

‘I don’t,’ he lied.

‘Because you’re lovely but-’

He could not bear to listen to it anymore, he did not want to sit here and be told all the reasons he wasn’t good enough. He wrenched his hand from her grasp, and stood, but he found he could not leave the empty classroom, he simply paced frantically, running his hands through his hair as his panic rose like bile in his throat.

‘You lied to me,’ he threw at her, ‘things were fine-’

‘No, they weren’t,’ she said, and she looked genuinely surprised. ‘This can’t have come as a shock, James, I thought you knew it was coming that’s why you’ve been…’

‘Been?’ he demanded. ‘Been what, exactly?’

‘Clingy,’ she said quietly.

He felt as though he had been punched repeatedly in the gut, and then spat on. ‘Clingy?’ he said hollowly.

‘I can’t stand near you without you grabbing my hand, all you ever want to do is snog – in full view of the common room – I never get a moment alone! Plus all the little gifts are really sweet but it’s just constant, and when I’m with my friends you’re always there too, you’re just attached to me – all the time-’

‘But you liked that before!’ he exclaimed furiously. ‘You never had a problem with that at the start, you were all for it!’

‘Everyone likes that at the beginning of a relationship, but then they settle down,’ she said, and she said it in such a way that he knew she was parroting someone else’s words. This annoyed him, because it made it seem like she was some kind of expert in relationships when they were both as inexperienced as each other.

He stared at her, helplessly. He felt as though he were in a bad dream. ‘Then you should have said that,’ he said. ‘You should have said.’

She burned scarlet. ‘I’m sorry. But that’s it.’

‘It doesn’t have to be,’ he urged her. ‘I could-’

‘James… we’re not married. We’re teenagers. There’s no need to pour loads of energy into fixing it when someone else can make us happier. I’m sorry, but you’re making me feel tied down.’

As if the experience wasn’t bad enough, he had to endure further agony later, when he was hidden behind the closed hangings of his bed, trying to hold back his pathetic tears. The door to the dorm creaked open, and he heard hesitant, shuffling footsteps.

‘James?’ his sister’s cautious voice rang out.

He sniffed, and tried to keep his voice steady. ‘What?’ he said grumpily.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

He winced. ‘Fine, why wouldn’t I be?’

‘I just… I just heard-’

‘Go away, Lily,’ he snapped. The whole common room must be talking about it if his sister, several years below him, knew already. Thank Merlin they were all going back home for Christmas break tomorrow morning.

He heard her huff irritably and stomp out, leaving him in his painful humiliation. It felt very much that by the end of his seventh year he should have met the person he was going to end up with – that was how it had been for mum and dad, and Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, and Nana and Grandad, and he was fairly sure Dad had said his parents got together in school too.

And Sarah had been perfect. She was pretty, and good at Quidditch, and good at kissing, and she’d been a bit giggly about his parents but not annoyingly so, not to mention she seemed to find him funny. Well, he thought grimly, clearly not funny enough.

The most painful part was how out of the blue it was. He thought he’d been doing everything right, doing all the things girls liked and said they wanted in a boyfriend. He felt as though someone had pulled his broom out from beneath him; he was still utterly baffled as to what he had done wrong. He’d been too intense? Clingy? Weren’t they just… synonyms for really liking someone? For loving them?

His heart ached. He felt as though a Dementor were lying next to him. No one had warned him about this part of love.


	14. Absence

She had broken up a fight between two inmates, so although she was still freezing from the uncomfortable boat journey back from the prison, she could not apparate straight home and crawl into the warmth of her bed. Instead, she apparated back to Whitehall to flush herself in, inwardly cursing Carrow for creating extra paperwork for her to do. It was not yet properly dawn; what little grey light there was fell upon unusual stillness on the street flanked by grand, pale buildings.

She could leave it until her next shift, she thought, as she crossed the eerily quiet atrium, but she liked to make sure the details of her report were accurate, and the thought of trying to recall it all after she had slept for ten hours, as she always did after an Azkaban night shift, was painful. 

Added to that, she had spent much of the shift worrying about the large-scale raid taking place up in Northumberland, her envy at being one of the very few not involved mingled with great concern for her coworkers, as Auror Hodges had said darkly that she thought it likely to be the sort of raid that only comes round once or twice in people’s careers. Perhaps, she thought, as the golden grate of the elevator rattled in the dim silence, it would have finished by now - she might go up to find out that Gnaeus was in a holding cell, and Auror Potter had let them get some champagne out. She always liked those little impromptu parties in the office after big wins.

But the department was dark and quiet when she reached it, and she realised that the raid must still be going on. She grimaced, for that meant she might not know anything about it until Monday, unless the press managed to get hold of the story in time for tomorrow’s papers. So she walked through all the dark cubicles, yawning, vaguely noticing that someone had left some of the oil lamps on in the far corner. 

She arrived at her shared cubicle with Potter, and glanced instinctively at his desk, but it was empty of his boots arrogantly up on it, or his taunting, irritating smirk, though it was still very much cluttered with his mess. It was not until she sat down at her own desk and pulled out a report form to fill in that she heard them. She was not alone in the office at all; there were whispers, and what sounded like quiet sobbing. Turning her head and frowning at the little balls of light from the lamps, she strained to hear what the voices were saying, or who they were. When she had heard Crispin’s posh accent murmuring, she felt reassured that they were not dangerous people, and she went cautiously over towards them. 

As she turned into the open area, she blinked in surprise. From the low volume she had expected one or two people (she had been rather concerned she was about to disrupt some kind of office affair), but it seemed as though half the department were there (though not, she noticed at once, Auror Hodges or James), sitting on the chairs and coworking desks or leaning against the noticeboards, all of them pale and grim faced. 

‘What’s going on?’ she asked. 'Has something happened with the raid? Did Gnaeus get away?' 

Dozens of eyes looked at her, and she felt a lurch of dread. Matt had his arm around Judy, who was sobbing, and Auror Proudfoot was slumped across the table - he had had his head in his hands, but now looked up at her dully. No one answered her for a few minutes, before Auror Cattermole ran her hand through her cropped blonde hair and said, 'no, he didn’t get away, he’s been arrested. He’s in holding cell three - Wright, Hodges and Bosley are interrogating him.’

She waited, her eyes slowly running over them all, for this was not the usual atmosphere after a successful arrest. 

'Auror Potter’s been seriously injured,’ said Crispin gruffly. 'We’re waiting to hear if he’s going to make it.' 

She fell into the same horrified silence as the rest of them, gaping at him slightly. The very breath seemed to go out of her lungs. 'Which.. which one?’ she asked, her voice suddenly hoarse. She cleared it slightly, and tried to steady her breathing. 'Which Auror Potter?' 

'Senior.’

She nodded vaguely, swallowing down the strange feeling of entwined relief and horror that had filled her mind like a thick fog. 'Oh my God,’ was all she could say. 'What…?’

'It was awful,’ sniffed Judy, wiping impatiently at her face. ‘He was barely recognisable.’

'Inferi,’ said Davies, in response to Hazel’s dreading, but inquiring look. 'None of us were in the tower, so I don’t know what happened exactly, but it looked really bad. He sort of came round a bit, but the Healers… it doesn’t look good.' 

'Where’s James?’ she asked faintly. 'Is he all right?’

'Dee took him to St Mungos - she had to, he couldn’t apparate himself - she’s not back yet - she might have just gone home, or maybe she’s still with him,’ replied Crispin. He swore. 'It was bloody terrible, he…’ he swore again, running a hand over his face. There was a stabbing sort of pain in her chest as she imagined what James must be enduring. 

She sat with them, joining them in their stunned silence and occasional whispered swear words. Sometimes someone would say something like, 'we’d have heard by now, wouldn’t we? If he was…?’ and then someone else would reply with, 'no, not until they let all his family know.’ As it all sank in, she began to ask quiet, hesitant questions, and slowly a deeply horrifying picture began to form. 

‘And James could see all this?’ she asked. They merely winced and nodded. 

The double doors to one of the corridors opened, and Auror Hodges and Wright strode quickly through them, deep in conversation, muttering quietly, their heads bowed. 

They fell silent as they spotted the large group of aurors staring expectantly at them, and slowed to a stop. 

‘We haven’t heard anything yet,’ said Auror Wright solemnly. ‘The news won’t come any quicker with you waiting here. Go home, get some sleep - there’ll be a debrief at ten tomorrow if you want to come to that.’ 

‘What’s happening with the suspect?’ asked Proudfoot. 

‘We’ve managed to get some good information,’ said Auror Hodges, her voice clipped and brisk, her expression controlled. ‘And there’ll be plenty more interviews with him over the coming days. You all did a good job, well done… this is a… really successful operation and I think we can all be proud in what we’ve accomplished today; he had some quite horrifying plans and it could have.. I’m… I’m going to go and type up these notes,’ she said, with a firm nod, and then she strode off down the corridor, barely glancing at any of them. 

‘Have you been in contact with his wife at all?’ Proudfoot called after her. ‘Do you know if-’

‘Deanna contacted her - when I know, you’ll know,’ she called back. 

They watched her go, and then looked back at Wright. ‘I’m going for a kip in my office,’ he grunted. ‘I’m knackered, and you all will be too - go home, get some rest like I told you. When we have news, we’ll share it.’ 

But Hazel did not feel tired, and it seemed others didn’t either. She felt full of a terrible kind of anticipation, like she was on the edge of something, like something was going to happen. She sat there in further silence with them all for a few minutes, then rose, and headed towards Auror Hodge’s office. 

She only wanted to ask how they would get the news, whether someone should go to the hospital to find out, but in her own distraught daze she entirely forgot her usual habit of knocking loudly on the door first. 

Auror Hodges gave a small start, pulling her head up from behind her hand. The whites of her eyes were red, and she wiped impatiently at her face, and cleared her throat. ‘Hazel,’ she said briskly. 

‘I- I’m sorry, I-’

‘What can I help you with?’ she said loudly, and Hazel saw the stump of her arm move, as though she were going to shuffle the papers on her desk. 

‘I just… I wondered if-’

‘I didn’t see anything,’ she replied, in a rushed, shallow voice. ‘You know I don’t get in on the action any more, I was doing surveillance from above, I couldn’t see in the tower.’ 

Hazel nodded, and watched as Auror Hodges stared frantically around her desk, as though she had lost something. ‘What are you even doing here anyway, Duarte? You were on the Azkaban shift, weren’t you?’ 

‘Yes,’ said Hazel, blinking rapidly. ‘I… yes, I was, but then I had to-’

Hodge’s very old cat jumped up onto the desk with a small mew. She burst into tears. 

‘Auror Hodges,’ cried Hazel, rushing over to her, but she didn’t know what to do; she suddenly felt that she was invading on something deeply personal, that Hodges wanted her gone. 

‘Oh - I’m sorry - please, Hazel, just ignore me, I’m just-’ she took a shuddering breath. 

‘Would you like me to type these up for you?’ Hazel said gently, nodding at the handwritten notes from the first interrogation. ‘It will take you ages with only one hand, and I think maybe you should go home.’ 

It felt very strange to be saying this to her line manager, but Auror Hodges nodded vaguely and ran her hand through her hair. ‘Yes… I should… Ben will be…’ she took a shuddering breath. ‘There’s no rush on this though, Duarte - don’t stay up all night.’

‘No, of course not.’ She took the parchment, and then hesitated as Auror Hodges pulled on her cloak. ‘I’m sure it’ll be OK. He’ll be OK. I mean, he’s Harry Potter, isn’t he?’ 

Even though she still sounded choked with tears, Auror Hodges gave a dark little chuckle. ‘Oh, I learnt to separate the man from the legend a long time ago. Make sure you get some sleep, Duarte.’ 

***

She felt a hand shake her shoulder, and with a sharp intake of breath and a splutter, she woke, lifting her head off her desk, her relaxed hand still resting on the keys of her typewriter. ‘W-wha-?’ 

‘Debrief,’ said Crispin, purple circles around his eyes. ‘Everyone’s going. Come on.’ 

She looked over at James’s desk. It sat utterly empty. 

‘Right,’ she said vaguely. ‘Yes, of course. Thanks.’ She scrambled up to follow him, trying to smooth down her hair and forget about how hungry and exhausted she was. He hadn’t been exaggerating; everyone had turned up. Every seat in the briefing room was taken, so they squeezed into the standing room at the back. 

‘Deanna!’ hissed Hazel, fighting through the murmuring crowd to get to her. ‘Dee!’ 

Deanna looked up; she looked very ill. Her round face was pale, and she was chewing on what little remained of her fingernails. ‘All right, Haze,’ she croaked. 

‘Any news?’ 

She shook her head. ‘I only dropped James off, then I left him in the waiting room because the Healer told me to go and inform next of kin. So I went to Mrs Potter to tell her.’ 

‘Merlin, Dee, that’s awful, I’m sorry.’ 

She winced. ‘Don’t say that. Don’t say that, Haze.’ 

The sudden, hushed silence that fell alerted them to Auror Hodges standing up at the front. She looked a lot better than she had the previous night; composed again, professional. 

‘Good morning, everyone,’ she said, standing up at the lectern that Auror Potter usually stood at. ‘I realise why attendance for this debrief is so much higher than perhaps any other town hall meeting we’ve had, and I can confirm that I spoke to Ms Potter this morning, and Auror Potter is alive.’ 

There was an audible sigh of relief around the roo, and a brief moment of renewed muttering before Auror Hodges spoke again. 

‘His Healer believes he will make a recovery, though he’s not entirely out of the woods yet and it may be some time before he is back at work. In the meantime, as Deputy, I will be leading the department. Furthermore, I think we can assume that Auror Potter - younger - will also be taking some off. Ms Potter particularly wanted me to thank those of you that helped him last night, in what was undoubtedly a very upsetting event for him.’ She paused, frowning slightly, and there was a heavy silence as she seemed to consider something. ‘Auror Potter - younger - asked me to pass on the message, that, er, “sucks that you all can’t have a few days off too, but ya know, spoilt brat privileges, bitches”.’ 

It was Auror Hodge’s formal, clipped tone as she read out words that were so painfully James bloody Potter that caused the ripple of slightly delirious laughter, and as Hazel grinned she was quite sure that she had done it on purpose. 

But then Hodges was talking about other things, handing out assignments and explaining what would be happening next with Gnaeus, and suddenly Hazel was feeling her hunger more than ever. 

‘Well, that’s a relief, isn’t it?’ said Crispin, as they left the room some twenty minutes later. ‘If he’s cracking jokes, that must mean he’s all right, they know he’s going to be fine.’ 

‘Yeah,’ said Deanna fervently. ‘Yeah, you know, I know she said he wasn’t out of the woods, but that doesn’t sound like death bed stuff, does it?’ 

‘No,’ said Hazel, trying to convince herself. ‘No, that sounds all right.’ 

She was not meant to be at work that day, so she finished off the typing for Auror Hodges and the prison report she had entirely forgotten about, while eating a sausage roll, before finally returning to her flat and sleeping the rest of the day away, only waking to occasionally wonder if James had really been joking about or just trying to put on a front.

When she went in on Wednesday morning, James’s desk was still empty. She found herself trying not to look at it, but it was more distracting even than he was when he was there. She tried to push it out of her mind, and did a fairly decent job of it, until a particular though nagged at her head so intrusively that she couldn’t focus on anything else. 

She knocked on Auror Hodge’s office door, and waited for her to call her in. 

Auror Hodges smiled. ‘Hazel. Everything all right?’ 

‘Yes, boss, I was just… I was just checking to make sure I hadn’t missed a get well soon card going round for Auror Potter? As I wasn’t in the rest of yesterday.’ 

Auror Hodges blinked at her for a moment, then swore loudly. ‘That is so considerate, I swear to Merlin I used to be like that until this bloody job sucked the spirit out of me - yes, good idea, Hazel. A card - and maybe a collection - do you want to organise?’ 

So that was how Hazel found herself wandering around the office, stopping at every cubicle, getting people to sign a large card. 

‘Have you heard anything else?’ Pendleton asked desperately when she reached his cubicle. It smelled faintly of vomit, and she wondered if he had thrown up in his bin. ‘About how he’s doing? How soon he’ll recover? Has it scarred him at all?’ 

‘I don’t know,’ she said, surprised. ‘I just thought a card would be nice.’ 

‘Right, yeah-’

‘And there’s a collection if you-’

‘Yep,’ he blurted out, and he practically upended his moneybag into the grown envelope she was holding out. 

She told Crispin about it when she reached his cube, and he grinned. ‘I reckon he had something to do with it, you know, he was the only non-senior auror in the tower, and he’s been a nervous wreck ever since.’ 

‘Maybe it was just traumatic.’ 

He hummed disbelievingly. ‘They’re all being so vague about what actually happened in there, I think there was a cock up, and Pendleton’s face has been screaming guilt. What did he write in the card?’ 

She searched for a few moments on the already crowded card. ‘Dear Auror Potter,’ she read quietly. ‘I’m really sorry. Hope you’re on the mend soon…’ she trailed off into shared muffled giggles with Crispin, both of them grinning over their shoulders to check no one was near the cubicle. 

Perhaps it was seeing all the well wishes in the card, perhaps it was simple the feeling that she was doing something, but Hazel returned home in a distinctly more cheerful mood than she had previously, sure, now, that tales of Harry Potter’s injuries and James Potter’s anguish had been exaggerated. 

But James was not there the next day either and the empty desk was beginning to disturb her. Once again, she took the card and envelope around, to catch the people she had missed, and then, finally, when she returned to her desk, she remembered that she had not yet signed it herself. She actually had to take her wand and shrink the size of Bosley’s hand writing to give herself space to write anything.

_Dear Auror Potter,_

_So sorry to hear what happened, I hope you get well soon. My best wishes to you and your family._

_Lots of love,_

_Hazel_

‘Shit!’ she said at once. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’ She took her wand to the card again, but although she could shrink her words slightly, and change their colours, she could not seem to erase the ink. She stood up, and looked down at Ellie. 

‘Have you got any ink eraser? One strong enough for my stupid permanent quill?’ 

‘Why?’ asked Ellie. 

‘I accidentally wrote lots of love on the card instead of from or best or something else normal!’ she said frantically. 

Ellie cackled. ‘Oh, even if I could help you, I wouldn’t, that’s hilarious.’ 

‘Please!’ begged Hazel desperately. 

‘Ha ha ha!’ Ellie leaned back in her chair. ‘D’you fancy him?’ 

‘No!’ said Hazel frantically, utterly appalled. ‘God, don’t say that!’ 

Ellie shrugged. ‘I’m gay and I fancy him a little bit. Silver fox.’ 

‘Good God,’ huffed Hazel huffed, sitting back down and ignoring Ellie’s laughter. The best she could do was turn lots of love white, like the card, though it still showed up a bit if you held it at a certain angle to the light. Plus it now looked like she’d left a weird gap before her name. 

The next day, James’s desk was empty yet again, but this time after an hour of Hazel firmly trying to ignore it, there was movement behind her. 

‘Boom, back and I’m better than ever, did you miss me?’ He dumped his bag on the desk with a solid thump and threw himself into his chair, grinning at her. 

She looked at him irritably. ‘That’s how you announce your return?’ 

‘Yeah. How else should I have said it?’ 

‘We’ve all been worried about you!’ 

‘Why?’ He let her blink in annoyed amazement at him for a few minutes, then grinned. ‘Right, yeah, ‘cos of the whole Dad nearly dying thing, right, right, right. Nah, I’m fine.’ 

‘How is he?’ she asked quietly. 

It could have only have been the slightest of movements, but she could swear that his grin faltered slightly. ‘Oh, you know… he’s… he’s been knocked about a bit, but he’s fine. Or, well, he will be fine. He’s awake and talking now and stuff.’ 

‘That’s wonderful,’ she said with a sigh of relief. ‘Any idea when he’ll be back.’ 

‘Dunno,’ he said with a shrug. ‘He’s on a lot of skele-gro. Being a right whiner about it and all. Anyway, what’s going on? What gossip have I missed? Have Crispin and Dee shagged yet?’ 

She sighed and shook her head. ‘It’s getting painful, isn’t it? You’d think two people would notice they fancy the pants off each other when they’re around each other so much, but no, the rest of us have to endure their awkward little moments.’ 

‘They sicken me,’ he agreed seriously. 

‘Erm…’ she said, trying to think of something else she could tell him that wasn’t about his father’s brush with death. She shook her head. ‘Nope. It’s been very lovely and quiet without you here.’ 

‘Bet you hated it,’ he said, winking. 

‘I certainly didn’t - I just wish I’d been able to appreciate it a bit more, but I’m so knackered.’ 

‘Bit like your sex life.’ 

She rolled her eyes, and ignored his sniggers. ‘Oh, and, er, someone organised a card and a collection - they left it here, hang on.’ She reached into her desk drawer, and pulled out the card, handing it over casually. 

‘Aw,’ he said, grinning. ‘That’s nice, I - bloody hell, quite a collection.’ 

‘I know,’ she said, grinning. ‘Pendleton put loads in, apparently.’ 

‘Really? Why?’ 

She laughed. ‘Crispin and I think he might have some intense survivours guilt. We’ve come up with a lot of theories.’ 

His eyebrows raised and he was grinning at her again. ‘I need to hear them,’ he told her firmly, looking positively excited. 

She beamed back, feeling rather excited too. ‘Well,’ she glanced over her shoulder to check nobody was loitering near their cubicle, ‘they got a bit absurd, some of them, and quite unflattering to certain coworkers - like Dawlish - so probably not safe for me to tell you at work. Fancy a quick drink after work? Then we can have a proper-’

‘Ah, shit - mate, I really want to, honestly - I want to have the freedom to bitch about coworkers without being overheard, but I’m in Clara’s bad books as it is-’

‘Oh, it’s fine,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Nevermind, it was just-’

‘Only ‘cos I forgot to contact her and tell her what was happening so obviously I went off on this big raid and she didn’t hear from me for nearly two days-’

‘Really, you don’t need to explain-’

‘-so I promised her I’d cook her dinner tonight and stuff - I mean, I’m just going to order takeaway and pretend I cooked it, but-’

‘Really, James, it’s fine,’ she said firmly. ‘Another time.’ 

‘Yeah, definitely,’ he said fervently. ‘Another time.’ 

They stared at each other for a few moments, and Hazel felt as though unsaid things were passing between them, though she was not entirely sure what they were. 

‘Ah, Potter.’ They both jumped at Auror Hodge’s voice, and bizarrely Hazel felt incredibly guilty. Auror Hodges was apparently oblivious to their discomfort, smiling pleasantly at James. ‘How’s your dad doing?’ 

Hazel turned back to her work as James launched into what seemed like a rehearsed summary of his father’s condition. She wondered why she hadn’t told him that she had organised the card. She wondered if she wanted someone to let him know about it or not. She wondered why it mattered.


	15. The Point

He was busy reading an interview with the lead chaser of the Holyhead Harpies, but he was vaguely aware of Clara swishing around the flat, reorganising the furniture and nattering about energy flows and positivity. ‘Hmm, yeah,’ he mumbled, every time she said, ‘that works so well, doesn’t it?’ as she moved side tables into odd places.

‘And maybe we should rotate the sofa like this,’ she said, gesturing vaguely, her many silver rings catching in the sunlight that fell through the high window.

He glanced up, and grinned. ‘Facing the brick wall?’ he said.

She pursed her lips for a second and blushed, but then smiled sheepishly back. ‘Well, we could always put some art up there or something.’

Quite frankly he thought she had perhaps been living in Hackney Wick for too long, but she seemed to be enjoying herself so he shrugged and said, ‘yeah all right,’ before turning back to the interview.

There were a few more minutes of her hovering awkwardly, pacing the flat, before she snapped her fingers. ‘That reminds me - you have Friday off this week, don’t you? There’s a modernist art exhibition round the corner, there’s still tickets available but only for the slot at 6pm, but I thought we could-’

‘Oh, er,’ he said distractedly, still half flicking through the Quidditch magazine, ‘I was thinking we could go to the Burrow that evening actually.’

When he heard nothing but silence, he looked up and saw her standing in the little kitchen area, looking at him in bafflement. ‘Why?’ she said, with a little jerk of her head.

He shifted uncomfortably. ‘Well… my dad’s finally getting out of hospital, isn’t he? So Gran’s getting the family round to, I dunno, make a fuss of him I suppose. I just thought we’d-’

‘I’m sure your dad won’t mind,’ she said stiffly. ‘You’ve visited him loads.’

‘I know he wouldn’t…’ James said slowly, ‘but I’d like to go. Don’t you want to come? Ted’ll be there too.’

‘With his screaming child,’ Clara muttered, almost under her breath.

‘What?’ said James sharply.

‘Nothing,’ she replied sourly.

‘Look, if you don’t want to go, fine, don’t,’ he said, though it was not fine. ‘Go to the exhibition, take someone else.’

‘So you’re not coming?’ she replied, her lips pursed. She seemed to be chewing on her tongue.

‘No, I just told you, I’m going to the Burrow because my dad’s finally getting out of hospital,’ he said pointedly. ‘What’s your problem?’

‘I haven’t got a problem,’ she muttered, and she turned her back on him, storming away and busying herself by the sink in the little kitchen area, putting the drying dishes away with loud clatters even though she could have used magic.

‘Clara,’ he spluttered, irritably.

‘Leave it,’ she snapped.

‘Bloody hell, the man nearly died, can’t you-’

‘But he didn’t!’ she burst out, turning and glaring at him with utter exasperation. ‘He didn’t die! I’m glad he’s out, and I’m sure it was all very upsetting-’

‘Oh, you’re sure, are you?’ he said coldly, putting the magazine down.

‘Don’t give me that,’ she said quietly. ‘We’ve been through this, I didn’t hear from you until nearly a day later, I was frantic with worry when you didn’t come home, and I even went to your parents and none of you were there, nobody told me anything-’

‘You don’t get it!’ he burst out, rising to his feet. He felt a surge of furious, frantic energy, his entire body seemed to have tensed. ‘You don’t get what it was like, you didn’t see him-’

‘But he’s fine now-’

‘Yeah, he nearly is, and it’s amazing - the whole family wants to celebrate that but, what, I shouldn’t go because there’s yet another fucking art exhibition on? The whole of Hackney Wick is one big art exhibition, can’t you go and look at some of the pretentious graffiti instead? We’ll go now, then we don’t have to stand around with shit prosecco listening to the artist talk bollocks about how he gets his inspiration from shagging-’

‘Oh shut up,’ she snapped, her cheeks redder than ever, ‘just shut up, you’re so close minded, don’t make fun of-’

‘Don’t expect me to miss out on an important family event for some-’

She let out a great growl of frustration and gripped her wavy blonde hair in her clenched fists. ‘You know what - I get it, you’re right, it’s a big nice event and it’s important because you all thought he was going to die - I get it, and you know what, maybe if that was all I would be totally up for going, but it’s not all, is it?’

‘What? What are you talking about?’

‘You’re still going to want to go on Sunday, aren’t you? If you’re not working?’ she shot at him.

He gaped at her. ‘Well - I dunno, I hadn’t really-’

‘And probably for dinner some night next week we’ll go to your brother’s, or your parents’, or maybe some cousin’s, and don’t forget the lovely little family holiday we’re all going on next month-’

‘I said you didn’t have to come to that, I said I understood that we hadn’t really been seeing each other long enough - I told you Scorpius is only joining us for the first time this-’

‘That’s not the point!’ she shrieked at him. ‘The point is you asked in the first place.’

‘What the fuck are you on about?’ he shouted back. ‘I’m sorry I invited you on holiday? I thought you liked travelling-’

‘Not with toddlers,’ she said flatly.

‘Fucking hell, I get it, you hate Dora.’

‘I don’t hate Dora,’ she protested, throwing her hands up at the sky.

‘You’ve got a funny way of showing it-’

‘I just don’t like kids,’ she said, slowly and pointedly. ‘All the noise and the mess and the inane conversation and having to pretend to drink imaginary tea for them or you look like a bitch-’

James swallowed, and looked away, at the trendy statement brick wall. ‘Are you finished insulting my family yet?’ he said, his voice shaking with the effort to keep calm.

‘Fucking hell, I’m not insulting your family!’ she shouted. There was an aching, heavy silence, before she sighed heavily. When she spoke again, her voice was weary. ‘What is the point in this?’

‘What d’you mean?’ he said, though he knew perfectly well what she meant.

‘You know I’m never going to want children, don’t you?’

He looked back at her, and somehow his anger had melted swiftly away, leaving him hollow. He said nothing.

‘I’m not going to change my mind,’ she said calmly. ‘I’m never going to be someone that wants to be a part of one big happy family. I want to spend my weekends and evenings doing adult things with adult friends and when I’ve saved up enough money I want to go travelling again.’

‘We can do all of those things,’ he said, and it was remarkable how steady and quiet they had both now become. ‘I - look, I’m sorry I insulted the exhibition, I’m sure it’ll be good, you know I go to those sorts of things with you-’

‘But I can tell you don’t enjoy it.’

‘And I can tell you don’t enjoy it at the Burrow, but, you know, you just sometimes do things you don’t enjoy for your partner-’

‘But what’s the point?’ she asked again softly. ‘Why are we forcing it?’

‘Look,’ he said hoarsely, ‘my Aunt Audrey, she doesn’t like the big family events either, we can all tell she’s grinning and bearing it, we all know she finds all the Weasleys overwhelming and overbearing, so she doesn’t come to a lot of them, and we all understand, and we just appreciate it when she does - that’s OK, no one judges her-’

‘James,’ she said flatly. ‘What is the point?’

His head was spinning. He wondered if the exhibition had been on a different day, or if they had sold out of tickets, this would be happening. It had been six whirlwind months. He stared at her, her grey eyes shining, her lips trembling slightly.

‘I don’t know,’ he admitted quietly.

***

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Potter, what is it?’ said Hazel grumpily. ‘Either tell me or stop huffing and sighing like that, you’re driving me mad.’

‘Can’t focus,’ he muttered, flicking laily through a morgue report. ‘I keep forgetting evidence tag numbers and getting confused.’

‘Well get it together. You’re distracting me. I need complete silence.’

‘Apt description of your sex life,’ he said glumly, tapping the end of his quill against the report.

‘Are you going to tell me what’s got you like this or not?’ she demanded.

‘I’m single again,’ he admitted, putting down his quill.

‘Oh,’ she said, and she sounded rather surprised. ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

He shrugged. ‘Nevermind,’ he muttered.

She seemed to hesitate, then tentatively said, ‘what happened? If you don’t mind me-?’

‘Pfft,’ he said, raising his hands carelessly. ‘Just, y’know. Wanted different things.’

She grimaced sympathetically. ‘At least you know now,’ she said gently. ‘Rather than years down the line.’

‘Yeah…’ he said vaguely. He groaned, loudly and suddenly, and slumped his chair, looking up at the ceiling. ‘Now I’m going to have to move again. Bloody hell, that was a really nice flat as well.’ He considered. ‘Maybe I should patch things up.’

Hazel burst out laughing. ‘You can’t get back together with someone because they have a nice flat!’

‘Why not?’ he protested. ‘It had a mezzanine, Hazel, and a little balcony looking out over the canal. It even had storage space. Storage space! In London.’

‘Oh wow,’ she said, raising her eyebrows.

‘Yeah!’

She seemed to consider too now, but shook her head roughly. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she told him. ‘Honestly, Potter, I think you’re well shot of her. She was nice and everything but I thought she was really boring.’

‘Boring?’ he spluttered at her, pulling his head back up to look at her with indignation.

Hazel shrugged. ‘Rhapsodizing about how much you love to travel doesn’t make you interesting,’ she said. ‘We’d all like to travel the world, it’s not unique to enjoy going on holiday.’

He snorted with laughter, and went back to lounging on his chair, looking up at the ceiling and twirling it slowly. ‘You’re wrong, she was interesting-’

‘She wasn’t,’ said Hazel flatly. ‘I thought she’d never stop telling me about the Galapagos Islands.’

He laughed. ‘She liked them! Wouldn’t you want to go?’

‘Yeah, course I would!’ she exclaimed. ‘But I don’t want to sit there for hours listening to someone else bang on about it.’

‘I had no idea you disliked her,’ he said, amused. ‘You only met her a couple of times.’

‘I didn’t dislike her,’ Hazel said stiffly, looking back at her typewriter. ‘She was fine. I just didn’t think the two of you were well suited.’

‘No, I s’pose not, in the end,’ said James, who disagreed but appreciated Hazel making the effort to pretend al the same.

‘She was a very independent sort, and you’re…’

‘Clingy?’ he suggested with a grin.

‘Social,’ she said firmly. ‘Extroverted.’

‘That almost sounded like a compliment!’ he said, grinning tauntingly at her.

‘It wasn’t, you’re still very annoying and strange,’ she told him stubbornly.

‘Can’t be helped, it’s in my genes - oh, hey, did I tell you? My dad’s getting out on Friday.’

She looked up, her eyes wide. ‘That’s brilliant!’

‘Yeah! Another week or so and he’ll be back at work, he reckons.’

She smiled. ‘Are you all doing anything nice?’

‘Erm…’ He scratched his nose and looked back down at his morgue report. ‘Yeah… just a dinner at my grandparents’…’

‘That sounds lovely,’ she said.

He hummed in agreement, and turned the page of the report, wondering if he had gone mad. He had almost suggested she come. He was probably just feeling a bit lonely. Breakups were always hard. Perhaps next time he would work out whether or not he was suited to someone before he fell in love with them.


	16. The Boggart

He had come across them before; a handful of times when they were taking a London trip and staying in Grimmauld Place after a long period of it being empty. Once at school when he went to significant lengths to unblock a secret passage that came up on his map. Even once at home, though Dad reckoned it must have only just tried to move in to the broomshed, because it wasn’t like that was exactly left alone very much in their family.

But each time it had been fine; he might give a yell of surprise, but the bogart could only guess at what might scare him and James didn’t reckon he was afraid of much. The boggarts had tried all sorts of things – mutilated bodies that made James go ‘eugh!’ and then lean towards to get a closer look, a demented looking clown holding a knife that made him swear but burst into a fit of laughter, so he didn’t even need to do the curse, and on one occasion a Dementor, which he had to admit was the time he yelled for his dad to help, though he felt fine once it was dealt with.

All in all, James thought of boggarts as relatively low level dark creatures that were fairly easily dealt with, and never troubled him much at all.

His father was back at work now, though he still had to lean heavily on a crutch. The thing that apparently annoyed him most was that someone else got to make the actual arrest of Gnaeus, but it still counted as a difficult problem dealt with so all was well. They were speeding towards Christmas now, the magical maintenance crew carrying large Christmas trees into the department. Auror Cattermole hurried over to chat to a group of them, and Auror Bosely shouted that it was Christmas and promptly started enchanting tinsel all around the top of her cubicle.

Auror Hodges, who had been in the middle of briefing James and Hazel on a missing persons case, huffed as she watched the Christmas tree sway and scatter pine needles everywhere as the team struggled to set it straight.

‘D'you not like Christmas, Hodges?’ James asked.

‘Hmm? Oh, it’s fine, Christmas is all right. It’s just that when they get all the decorations out of storage it makes all the boggarts look for new homes – you always spend the first week or two of December getting the fright of your life every time you open a filing cabinet.’

‘Oh yeah,’ said Hazel frowning slightly. ‘I’ve never noticed that before, but there were loads this time last year.’

‘I don’t remember any,’ said James.

‘You could try doing your paperwork occasionally,’ Hazel shot at him.

‘And risk coming across a boggart? No thanks.’

‘Anyway, when the pair of you are finished antagonising each other,’ said Hodges sternly, ‘I want the pair of you going door to door in the Jericho area; have a shifty look to see if anyone has any scratches or cuts, they wouldn’t have been able to enchant them away with that knife.’

‘Yeah, cool, no problem,’ said James catching the folder she chucked at him.

‘And I had a meeting this morning with the senior leadership team – the Christmas party is on the 18th this year. Mark your diaries.’

‘Nice,’ said James eagerly as she walked away, ‘love a good Christmas party.’

‘I don’t think I’ll drink this year,’ said Hazel cautiously. ‘Not when I’ve got my appraisal right after the break.’

He scoffed. ‘Nerd. Is this just ‘cos my Dad’s doing it instead of Hodges?’

‘Auror Potter,’ she corrected firmly. ‘And yeah that can mean there’s potential for promotion, can’t there?’

‘Or that you’re getting fired,’ he said cheerfully.

‘I’m not going to fall for that,’ she said firmly, though she sounded like she was saying it to herself. ‘I’m not letting you get inside my head.’

‘Yeah I’m sure you’re not getting fired; I’m sure you’re getting promoted way earlier than anyone I’ve ever heard of.’

‘Be quiet, Potter.’

‘I’m sure it’s not to put you on a performance improvement plan.’

‘Go away.’

‘Now that we’re not preparing for all out war with Gnaeus anymore, we probably don’t need as many Aurors. I’m all right, I reckon, I’m his son, he won’t fire me.’

He enjoyed how irritated she looked as she firmly turned her back on him, her dark ponytail shining in the light.

Two days later, when the brief discussion with Hodges was forgotten, he went to fetch a classified file from the cage in the records room. His mind was entirely elsewhere as he approached, vaguely wondering about whether Hazel was wearing perfume because she had a date planned or something, and so when he pulled back the gate it didn’t occur to him at all to have his wand at the ready – after all, why would it?

He leapt back, telling incomprehensibly, swearing, fear gripping him as he stumbled and fell hard onto the floor.

Inferi were swarming towards him, crawling over one another like a tumbling wave, their hands reaching and grasping and their putrid breath gasping. Beneath then all, tossed and kicked and trampled over, was the bloodied figure of a man with dark grey hair.

James lay there in transfixed horror, frozen in fear, but though they appeared to be advancing they weren’t actually getting any closer…

‘Riddikulus!’

There was a snap, and suddenly in the place of the inferi was a young, sneering man, his face pocket marked and his cap low, advancing with a smirk. ‘You’re pret’y,’ he said, in a thick accent, and then Hazel was stepping calmly into James’s field of vision, there was another snap, and the boggart was gone.

She turned, and looked down at him, surprised. ‘Are you all right?’

To his utter humiliation, he realised he was trembling. ‘Fine,’ he blurted out. ‘Just took me by surprise.’

He scrambled up, and stupidly took out his wand, though the boggart was now very much gone.

‘They do come out of nowhere,’ she said sympathetically.

‘Yeah,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I – honestly, I can deal with a boggart-’

‘I know you can.’

‘They don’t usually bother me.’ It seemed very important to him that she understand this.

She nodded, and studied him carefully. ‘What happened last month sounded awful,’ she said quietly.

‘Yeah, well, he’s fine, isn’t he?’ James said quickly. ‘We all are. It went well.’

‘Even so… I’m glad I wasn’t there, if I had been I expect I’d be seeing them too,’ she said darkly, and for some reason he thought this was a decent thing for her to say.

He rubbed his nose irritably and looked back and where the boggart was. ‘Why did you see some random chav?’ he asked.

‘Ah,’ she said, smiling awkwardly and tilting her head. ‘Just some bully I once knew. Doesn’t matter. You sure you’re all right? Which file were you after? I came down because I thought you might be looking for the Greyback one.’

‘Yeah, I was.’

‘I took that out yesterday, I forgot to tell you – come on, you were right, it is a precedent. I’ll show you.’

And thankfully she led him away, jabbering away about their case, firmly ignoring his embarrassment.

‘Hey,’ he said, later that day as he handed her a coffee. ‘Er… would you mind… not telling my dad about what happened down in the records room.’

She gave him a withering sort of look. ‘Would I?’

‘No, I s'pose not,’ he said. ‘You’re too scared to talk about anything not directly about work with him.’

‘Shut up.’

‘Ooh, Mr Potter, please don’t sack me,’ he mimicked in a high pitched voice, leaning back in his chair with his coffee. ‘Not after I helped your idiot son!’

‘I won’t help you again, you know. You’re on your own.’

‘Apt description of your sex life,’ he said.

‘God, you’re unbearable. Where’s your gratitude?’

‘Got you a coffee, didn’t I?’

‘After I asked twice.’

‘Still got it.’


	17. The Christmas Party

Like every year, the Law Enforcement Department Christmas party was in an old, large hall in central London, that James supposed the rest of the year was used by Muggles, but was tucked away enough (or perhaps loaded with enchantments) that magic could be freely used, a wizarding catering company brought in, and though people tended to wear muggle garb, the occasional set of flamboyant robes wouldn’t cause bewilderment.

The tables, long and snaking up and down the dark-paneled hall, were set beautifully; Christmassy in theme, with golden plates and candelabras, ruby red runners, and glittering Christmas crackers. There was a lot of milling around and people taking time to find seats, though, with odd little clusters of Aurors and law enforcement patrol staff taking photos or searching for friends, creating one another or swapping last-minute informal Secret Santas.

They had already had welcome drinks, but James had wandered away from Crispin and Dee to grab a seat, because he wanted to be in the middle rather than stuck at the end of a table like last year when he’d had to listen to a total bore from the morgue. He glanced up and could see his father, with his hands in his suit pockets as usual, talking to Proudfoot near the end of the long table, so he supposed he would sit up there when people started taking their places. He waved over at Crispin and Dee to try and get them to follow him, but they were busy taking a selfie with Crispin’s camera - the puff of purple smoke it emitted floated up to the fairy light strung beams above them. When would they just kiss? Fucks sake.

‘James!’

Looking a little flustered as she hurried over towards him, was Hazel. She was in a golden, sequined swing dress, the yellow colour of it stunning against her tanned skin and dark chignon, which she had accessorised with tinsel. ‘Wow,’ said James, blinking rapidly, ‘Haze, you look great. Very Christmassy.’

She looked at him, surprised. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Weird seeing you out of uniform too.’

‘Well, that’s a compliment and a half, innit?’ he said teasingly as she pulled out the chair opposite him with a smirk. ‘You look weird.’

‘That’s not what I meant,’ she said impatiently, glancing over her shoulder. ‘Can I sit with you?’

‘I presumed you would,’ he said, surprised. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’m trying to avoid Mark - he was suggesting I sit next to him-’

‘Eurgh - it’s been nearly a year, he needs to get over it. Don’t get back together with him.’

‘I certainly am not, don’t worry about that.’

As she sat, Auror Hodges came over, plonked a bottle of wine between them, and sat beside Hazel.

‘Merry Christmas,’ she said brightly.

‘Aw, are you rejecting the rest of the Senior Aurors to come and sit with us?’ asked James, grinning. ‘Your favourite Auror and Hazel?’

‘Well, I thought we could squeeze one last Christmas in as a team. Hazel, you might have your own trainee to manage in a year or two, and James, you probably won’t be long behind, because you won’t be an NQ anymore. It’s going to be odd, not having our little unorthodox team of three, so I thought I’d come and make the most of the Christmas dinner with you.’

Hazel looked delighted, but James felt oddly alarmed as Auror Hodges uncorked the wine. ‘I mean… we’ll all still work together, won’t we?’

‘Oh, yes, of course, but I’ll probably have a break mentoring people for a couple of years,’ said Auror Hodges cheerfully. ‘Go back to a more research focused role, maybe do a little sabbatical or something.’ She poured the wine into James’s glass, and then moved to Hazel, who hurriedly put her hand over it.

‘No, thanks - I’m sticking to pumpkin juice tonight.’

Theia shrugged, and filled her own glass. James, however, could not be bothered to try and tease or goad Hazel about refusing to drink because of her upcoming appraisal, because he was disconcerted that, despite having been qualified for over a year, Auror Hodges was suddenly talking like everything was about to change. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dee and Crispin take seats away from them, and suddenly he felt uneasy.

‘Right, but me and Hazel, we’ll probably still be paired, won’t we? There aren’t any plans to move our desks?’

‘Ooh, that’s a point,’ said Hazel, raising her eyebrows. ‘We might get our own cubes soon, no more finding random mugs of old, fuzzy coffee.’

‘You said you liked nature,’ James protested. ‘Anyway, I’ve been qualified for nearly a year now, if things were going to change they would have - hey! No, no, no, don’t sit next to me-’

‘I’m not sitting next to you,’ said Dad calmly, pulling out the chair next to James, ‘I’m sitting opposite Theia.’ Before he sat, he leaned across the table, and he and Auror Hodges pecked one another on the cheek. ‘Happy Christmas,’ he told her.

‘Oh, happy Christmas yourself!’ she said warmly. ‘Didn’t think you’d come down to the kids table.’

‘Yeah, well… certain… company… I thought… thought it’d be better to mingle…’ said Dad awkwardly, and James glanced up the other end of the table, where he thought his father was going to sit, to see old Dawlish loudly ordering people to reorganise the table layout for him.

‘Ah, say no more,’ said Auror Hodges, filling his own wine glass. Over her shoulder, James spotted Dee and Crispin, who had been approaching, noticing his father, looking alarmed, and hurrying to sit elsewhere. James turned to glare at Dad, but he was not paying attention.

‘Plus, I want to see how soon you start talking at a hundred miles per hour,’ he said, checking his watch. ‘It’s seven now, I’m going to say once you’ve been drinking for an hour I won’t be able to get a word in edgeways.’

‘Oh, shut up, boss - we’ll see how long it is before you start hugging people, shall we?’ said Auror Hodges easily. ‘Is he like this at home?’ she asked James, who nodded.

‘Where d’you think I get it from?’

Hazel looked like a deer caught in wandlight, particularly as Dad smiled at her and wished her a happy Christmas too, and politely enquired about her Christmas plans.

‘Erm… visiting family, in Portugal, boss,’ she said, unable to meet his eyes.

James snorted. ‘Boss,’ he mimicked

‘You should call me that at work,’ Dad shot at him.

‘No way, that’s so embarrassing, I absolutely will never.’

‘Mmm,’ said Dad, rolling his eyes. ‘Ever the professional, you - but really, Hazel, you don’t need to.’

‘Right, OK,’ she said, and then she opened her mouth as though to call him something else, Harry, perhaps, but then clearly thought better of it and nervously closed it again. James tried to suppress a second snort of laughter, because Auror Hodges had caught his eye and given him a stern sort of look.

He wondered if Hazel had ever spoken to his father without a desk or lectern between them. Certainly she had never seemed concerned with the Chosen One aspect of the legend - few people their age were, he reckoned (Teddy and Al both disagreed), it was ancient history, practically, but for someone as career minded and ambitious as her she had never seemed to grasp the idea of networking or schmoozing, instead falling back on formality and complete professionalism. The prospect, then, of having a Christmas dinner with him almost opposite her, must be driving her mad with panic, must, surely, be sending her into a spin as she wondered whether this was a deliberate act on Dad’s part to get to know her before her appraisal, to figure out if she was deserving of a promotion….

Oh, he was going to have so much fun.

‘Hazel hasn’t got a drink,’ he said, with false surprise. ‘She was completely missed out!’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ said Dad immediately, grabbing the wine bottle and filling her glass before her horrified eyes. Still, she did not say anything, apparently paralyzed with worry about whether it would be rude to say no. ‘Now, where in Portugal is your family from?’

‘Er-’

‘Ugh, you’re so boring, this is why I didn’t want you to sit next to us, now we can’t talk about all the drugs we do in the office,’ said James. Hazel’s face snapped towards him, aghast.

Dad raised his eyebrows and sighed slightly. ‘What kind of drugs?’ he asked, with apparent mild interest.

‘Hardcore,’ James told him. ‘Anything we can find in the evidence room, really. I need help, Dad.’

‘I know you do,’ he replied. ‘On a lot of things.’

‘It’s all your fault I’m like this,’ James told him. ‘And you,’ he said to Auror Hodges.

‘Me?’ she spluttered, putting down her glass of wine and glaring at him. ‘What have I done?’

‘Erm, stabbed him in front of me?’ James reminded her. ‘Let me be held by my weeping mother as he bled out across the stage?’

Dad tutted. ‘You don’t remember that.’

‘I do! It was very traumatic.’

‘You were about two months old - have you heard this story, Hazel?’ Dad asked her, and she jumped at being addressed directly by him.

‘I - no, I don’t think-’

‘Oh, Harry!’ laughed Theia, ‘I’ve just remembered the Christmas you got me that photo of it! It’s framed in my downstairs loo, you know.’

Dad laughed too. ‘I signed it as well, didn’t I? Might be worth a bit.’

James spluttered in indignation. ‘Oh, well, it’s great that you two can both laugh about it, it sent me down on a path of attention seeking from which I could never-’

‘You absolutely were not traumatised by a staged assisination attempt that happened when you were a couple of months old,’ Dad said, and he leaned towards Hazel. ‘Duarte, what happened was…’

And Dad and Auror Hodges reminisced, explaining to Hazel, who sat wide-eyed, staring back and forth between the pair of them, her ruby-red painted lips slightly parted. At one point, the food magically appeared, but Dad and Auror Hodges didn’t break conversation as they all tucked in, pausing only to pull crackers that went off like cannon fire.

‘Course you couldn’t do that kind of thing nowadays,’ said Dad wistfully, putting the forest-green akubra hat from his cracker onto his salt and pepper head. ‘Good old Robards - he was a bit of a loose canon, allowing things like that… allowing me to do any of my ideas, really.’

‘You’re the one that would now have to permit things like that,’ James reminded him, carefully positioning his own feathered cavalier hat.

‘Yeah, well, it’d still have to be approved by your aunt, wouldn’t it? Anyway, I’m not sure anyone except for us could pull something off with that much pizzazz.’

‘And we agreed that many things with that operation-’ began Theia with a raised eyebrow.

‘Yes, yes-’ Dad said easily, waving a hand dismissively.

‘-Were idiotic in hindsight-’

‘I know, yeah, a few bits were, er-’

‘Rash.’

‘It all worked out, didn’t it?’

‘Easy for you to say, with all your limbs!’

He grinned at her, and even Hazel gave a little nervous splutter, immediately covering her mouth as though not sure if she would get into trouble for laughing. ‘All right, all right, I’m going to have to cut up some of your turkey for you-’

‘Piss off, I’m going to use my wand!’

‘-But I still think, when you tally up all the years, I come off worse, physically speaking.’

By the time Dad and Auror Hodges had swapped enough stories of gruesome injuries and decided that only Healer Gower could be the judge, the puddings were out and people were starting to rise from their seats and wander away.

‘Shall we grab another drink and circulate?’ Auror Hodges asked.

‘Better do,’ said Dad grimly. He turned to James, and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Duty calls. Don’t worry, I won’t cramp your style any longer.’

‘Saying that is cramping my style, please never say it again.’

Dad only grinned and rose. ‘Lovely chatting to you Hazel, enjoy the rest of your evening. Happy Christmas.’

‘Merry Christmas,’ she blurted back.

‘You did well,’ James said bracingly to her as Dad and Hodges walked away. ‘You kept your promise of not drinking, and you only looked awkward some of the time, which, incidentally, is an apt description of your sex life.’

‘Merlin, I was not expecting that,’ she said heavily, and she leaned her head in her hands so that her Christmas Cracker hat (a captain’s hat that he thought rather suited her) slipped off and missed the candles by centimeters. ‘Oh, God, what if he sat there on purpose to get a sense of who I was and I did something weird or he thought I was boring or irresponsible or something-’

‘Can you please get a life and just enjoy the party?’ he said. ‘I promise you, my dad’s crap at hiding when he doesn’t like someone, you’re fine.’

‘I know, I know, I just really want the appraisal to go well-’

‘Haze, stop worrying,’ he advised her. ‘You’re giving him far more credit than he deserves, he’s not that sly, he probably just genuinely wanted to get away from Dawlish and sit with people he liked.’

‘I had no idea your Dad and Auror Hodges were so close,’ Hazel said, watching them chatting easily at the bar. ‘I mean, I knew they were friendly as work colleagues, but they’re proper friends aren’t they?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ said James. ‘I mean… I dunno, it’s a bit odd - Mum and Dad would vaguely talk about her sometimes, and I know they go out to dinner with her and her husband every now and then but she’s never come round ours and they never go round theirs. I’d not met her before I started.’

‘Why?’

He shrugged. ‘Dunno. I think there was some weird business with Teddy being targeted at some point and then something else about her husband or something - when I first started I asked about it and Dad just said she likes to keep work and professional life very separate.’ He wobbled his head in consideration. ‘Mum was a bit drunk and chipped in with “psychological issues” which doesn’t help much.’

‘Oh,’ said Hazel, looking very surprised. ‘You wouldn’t think it, would you?’

‘Maybe one day when we’re more experienced, we’ll be that damaged,’ he said, with a mock misty expression.

‘Hmm, well, I’m going to follow their lead and try and mingle,’ she said, putting down her napkin and starting to rise. ‘I want to speak to Auror Bosley, she was promoted very quickly, apparently, so she might-’

‘Are you actually networking at the Christmas party instead of just having fun?’ he said, laughing.

‘Yes,’ she said stubbornly. ‘I’ve ticked off Auror Potter and Auror Hodges now, so-’

‘You most certainly haven’t networked with me - sit down and tell me your five year plan,’ he told her. ‘Haze! Haze! Hazel!’ he called, as she rolled her eyes and walked away. ‘What do you think is your target area for improvement? Haze?’

But she seemed to glide gracefully off to talk to the more senior Aurors, and James instead bounded over to Crispin and Dee. They were still seated, so James placed his hands on Crispin’s shoulders and grinned down at them both.

‘All right, twatheads?’

‘Did you make poor Hazel sit through a dinner with your dad?’ Dee demanded. ‘Her anxiety must be through the roof!’

‘She wanted to, she’s networking,’ James said. ‘Why didn’t you two come over - there was space on the other side of me.’

‘We’re scared of your dad,’ Crispin told him shamelessly. ‘Have you seen over there? In the Law Enforcement Patrol lot?’

James glanced over to where Crispin had jerked his head, where the younger witches and wizards from the LEP were rising from their table to head onto the dance floor, the music just starting up. There was Whitakker, the unpleasant man James had endured many awkward pub nights with trying to work out what Hazel saw in him, but had thankfully been able to avoid entirely since they broke up. They’d broken up the night he’d started seeing Clara, he remembered with a slightly odd pang, because he’d felt really weird talking to Hazel about his relationship afterwards when she’d been so obviously upset with her break up, though she had never really told him why-

‘That Katie’s here,’ said Crispin, and James dragged his glare from Whitakker to Katie Tomlins, a brunette witch giggling with one of her friends.

‘Yeah…’ said James slowly.

‘Well, you two have been a bit flirty lately, haven’t you?’ said Crispin. ‘Why don’t you-’

‘Nah.’

‘What d’you mean, nah?’

‘I’m trying this new thing where I’m not a pathetic arsehole all the time just falling in love with random women I don’t know.’

‘How boring,’ said Dee.

‘I know,’ he said in a pained voice. ‘Gotta be done though, hasn’t it?’

‘You could get to know her through dating,’ said Crispin.

James groaned loudly. ‘Ugh, no. I wish all that stuff could be skipped. She’s got good banter, but last time I spoke to her she said she wasn’t into Quidditch, so really, what’s the point?’

Crispin started laughing, but Dee shook her head despairingly. ‘Well, at least you’re learning, I suppose.’

‘Well, yeah, exactly. I think I’ve saved a lot of time and heartbreak down the line. Anyway, who’s coming to the bar?’

He spent his time going back and forth to the bar and mingling with the other Aurors, Crispin and Dee at his side, all of them insulting each other so brutally that you could be sure they were friends. At one point Ellie Cattermole joined them, challenging and thoroughly beating Crispin at an arm wrestling contest, but James found himself looking over at Hazel, who was talking animatedly with Proudfoot.

In the previous years, the Christmas party had felt a little different. Last year she’d been attached to Whitakker’s hip the whole evening so he’d barely seen her and he’d got quite drunk anyway so perhaps he had spoken to her and simply forgotten. But the years prior to that, she’d been very much part of the gang, and he had assumed, perhaps naively, that she would return to that now. Her ambition was admirable and he very much hoped she would get the promotion she so deserved in the new year, but all the same he felt strangely lonely - as though he missed her, even though she was mere feet away.

It was silly to ruminate on this though, so he made fun of Crispin for losing the fifth attempt at arm wrestling in a row, and made his way back to the bar. Dad happened to already be there, and James slipped in alongside him, poked him in the ribs, and hassled him until he agreed to buy him a drink, before Dad was distracted by Auror Wright.

James watched the barman make his drink, but didn’t move away when it was handed to him, for suddenly Hazel was on his other side, leaning across the bar. ‘Glass of red, please,’ she asked the barman.

‘Ooh, what happened to “I’m not going to drink because I’m too scared of big bad Auror Potter and his scary appraisal”?’ 

She hadn’t realised he was there, and she gave him an exasperated look. ‘I figured it was weirder being the only one not drinking,’ she said. ‘Also,’ she admitted in a low voice, ‘I got trapped in a conversation with Dawlish. I didn’t even think about it, just seized the nearest glass of wine. I’m not even sure it was mine.’

‘Fuck, I’d be on shots by now if that was me,’ he said. ‘Anyway, you should have told me you’d decided to drink anyway. I told my dad you were a recovering alcoholic and that’s why you didn’t drink any of the wine he poured you.’

‘For God’s sake, Potter,’ she snapped. ‘Did your parents not give you enough attention as a child?’

‘I dunno, let’s ask,’ said James, and he enjoyed seeing her face drop into horror as he leaned away from the bar and revealed that his father was standing right behind him. ‘Dad?’

Beside him, Dad turned his head interestedly and looked at James, who jerked his head at Hazel. ‘She reckons you didn’t give me enough attention as a child.’

‘No, we gave him too much, I think,’ Dad told her easily. Her face was hilarious; trying to force a smile to show that she was joking around, but so clearly panicked that James burst out laughing. Dad put his hand on James’s back. ‘Are you antagonising people?’ he asked him.

‘Yeah,’ said James. ‘It’s part of my charm.’

‘Hmm.’ Dad looked back at Hazel. ‘Don’t listen to him, Duarte.’

‘Oh, I never do, Sir,’ she blurted out, going immediately a deep shade of red. This made James snigger even more.

‘Why are you like that around him?’ he asked a few minutes later when Dad had got his drink and wandered over to talk to Auror Wright. ‘You always look like you’re convinced he’s going to hex you.’

‘I don’t think that!’ she protested.

‘Oooh, not the scary Harry Potter!’ James mocked. ‘He’s so famous!’

‘It’s not that!’ she said irritably. ‘He’s my boss, isn’t he? And yours, for that matter!’

‘So?’

‘So, he basically holds our careers in his hands,’ she hissed.

‘Nah,’ he said. ‘I’m going to poison his tea and inherit the title of head of the department. Then I think you’ll find your career is in my hands.’

‘That’s not how it works,’ she said flatly.

‘Apt description of your sex life,’ he said cheerfully.

The barman handed her a glass of wine, and she tried to walk away from James, but he merely picked up his drink and followed her, saying, ‘d’you get it? D’you get it, Haze? ‘Cos you do sex wrong.’

They joined Crispin and Dee, and it didn’t take long before Dee was pulling them onto the dance floor, the huge brass gramophone blasting out music from The Wynter Witches, occasionally interrupted with embarrassing songs from Mum’s era, like the Weird Sisters and the Rogue Bludgers. It didn’t matter, they danced to it all anyway, James and Crispin taking the girls by the hands and twirling them beneath their arms, and a few times jokingly slow dancing with each other, because Crispin seemed quite drunk already.

‘Where’s the after party?’ he asked at one point.

‘After party?’

‘Yah, we should all go out afterwards.’

‘Yes!’ shouted Dee excitably. ‘The four of us - come on, Hazel, you won’t have to worry so much then, you can let your hair down.’

‘She would never,’ said James, doing his best to look affronted.

‘Where?’ asked Hazel. ‘This is going on til midnight, all the pubs will be closed-’

‘I’m not talking about the Leaky Cauldron,’ said Crispin, waving a dismissive hand. ‘We’re in the middle of London and I’ve brought some muggle money out with me for a reason.’

‘Have you?’ said James, surprised.

‘Yeah, I did too,’ said Dee. ‘Not much, though.’

‘I know a good club in Soho,’ Crispin said, and James very well believed it.

‘I’ll see if my dad’s got any muggle money, but if he has, yeah, I’m up for it. I’ve never been on a muggle night out.’

‘Yeah, go on then,’ said Hazel, taking another sip of her wine. ‘No one wants to talk work tonight anyway.’

‘Yeah, I told you they wouldn’t,’ James said smugly. ‘They’re not as nerdy as you.’

‘Shut up.’

He got his chance an hour later. While attempting to lift a shrieking-with-laughter Dee above his head, he spotted his father near the door of the hall, hugging someone.

‘Shit,’ he said, and he dropped Dee and hurried off before her outraged splutter could turn into a scolding.

He reached him as Dad was patting a chuckling Proudfoot on the shoulder and saying, ‘yeah, really better go now, I reckon.’

‘You’re not going are you?’ James seized his father’s arm as he was pulling on his coat.

‘Well, I just hugged poor Auror Pendleton and said I forgive him, so it’s probably best I go home now before anyone else hands me another drink or… gets within reach,’ he replied, in a slightly slow, thick voice. ‘And,’ he added hypocritically, ‘people are starting to get a bit drunk, so they don’t want their boss here.’

‘S’pose not.’

‘I imagine I’ll be fast asleep when you get home, so see you tomorrow.’

‘Yeah, see you - Merlin, geroff-’

Dad had embraced him; he was not yet staggering but James was, particularly under his father’s weight, and he grimaced as he glanced around at their coworkers; smirks from a few, endeared smiles from others.

‘Dad-’

‘You’re a good boy, I’m so proud of you.’

‘OK.’

‘I’m glad you’re an Auror.’

‘All right.’

‘You have fun tonight.’ Dad finally pulled away, and looked at him shrewdly. ‘But remember it’s still a work event.’

‘OK… erm… have you got any muggle money?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can I borrow some?’

‘Are you going to give it back?’

‘Probably not,’ James said honestly, ignoring Dad’s tut and sigh as he pulled out his wallet.

Dad started leafing through some notes and moving to hand them to James before he paused and squinted. ‘Wait - what for?’

‘We’re going into muggle London for the afterparty,’ said James. ‘We might go to a muggle club.’

‘Bloody hell,’ said Dad, shaking his head in exasperation, but he handed over a small wad of notes anyway. ‘All right - here. Don’t stay out too-’

‘Yep, cheers,’ said James swiftly, taking the money.

‘Yeah, you’re welcome!’

‘I said cheers! Bye! See you tomorrow!’

‘Kids,’ he heard him mutter to Auror Wright.

He hurried back to the others, still with their arms around each others shoulders, swaying and singing along to the Christmas music. ‘Party’s on,’ he told them, and Crispin whooped and slung his arm around James’s shoulders.

‘Good man. Soho, yah? It’s not far.’

‘After this song, after this song!’ yelled Dee.

They danced for at least another hour, until the hall was starting to clear out of people, and a few rowdy blokes from the Law Enforcement Patrol started wrestling on the floor.

‘A fight!’ yelped James enthusiastically, and he moved to go and watch, but Hazel held him back.

‘That’s Mark!’

‘Even better, don’t you want to watch him get punched?’

‘Well, ye- no!’

‘James! James!’ Crispin was bellowing in his ear, swaying dramatically as he stood. ‘After party!’

James considered. He could think of many reasons going out would be a bad idea, and why he should go home instead. The most obvious was that they were all very drunk, and somehow he did not think a muggle club would help them sober up. Another was that he quite wanted to watch Whitakker get hit, because he was such an unbearable tosser. Another reason was that they were all very drunk, and Dee kept falling over. One more reason was that Dad had drunkenly given him muggle money and James suspected that had he been sober he wouldn’t have given him as much, and that perhaps tomorrow he would ask for it back but James would certainly spend it if they went out. The final reason was that they were all very drunk.

‘Come on, Hazel, if you’re not going to let me watch the fight, we’re going out,’ he said, linking his arm with hers.

They stumbled out of the hall with their arms still around each others shoulders and waists, singing carols at the top of their voices, laughing as they staggered down little narrow streets and came out onto The Strand. Though the club Crispin had been banging on about was not far and they could have walked, it was freezing and Dee and Hazel were both complaining about their high heeled shoes, so James enthusiastically waved at a passing black cab, which pulled up alongside them so they could pile clumsily into the back, Hazel practically falling into James’s lap as Crispin fell in, swearing in his ridiculously posh accent.

‘I’m sorry about them,’ Dee was shouting loudly at the driver. ‘I’m so sorry, mate!’

They laughed and shouted and teased each other for the entire brief drive, and only continued as they shivered in the queue outside the club. ‘I’ll sober up at this rate,’ James accused Crispin, his arms tightly folded as he stamped his feet.

‘What if they don’t let us in?’ said Dee. ‘After we’ve queued all this time?’

‘Darling, they’ll let us in,’ scoffed Crispin.

‘How do you know?’ she demanded.

‘With attractive men like us? I’m surprised they haven’t rushed us to the front,’ James said. ‘You’re lucky you’re with us, ladies.’

‘You are so obnoxious,’ said Hazel.

He tilted his head and grinned bashfully. ‘Thanks, I try.’

They were denied entry at first, until Crispin stepped forward and somehow charmed the bouncer (perhaps, thought James, it was the voice, though Hazel pointed out that he slipped him some money), and they were ushered through into a packed, loud club.

‘My grandad would lose his fucking mind in here,’ James said, staring at the bars of light on the stairs and running along the walls, the dancing shimmer of some of them.

‘What?’ Hazel shouted faintly against the music.

‘I said - nevermind.’

‘What?’

They gathered around the bar, and though they all kept shouting at one another nobody could really understand what was going on, and suddenly James was being handed a little shot of something clear, and they all touched the little glasses together in a toast none of them could hear (James just shouted incomprehensibly in a jubilant sort of manner), and knocked it back. It was revolting. 

One section of the club was roped off, with little booth like tables and people sitting in them looking, in James’s opinion, rather bored, but in an intimidatingly attractive way.

‘Mate,’ Crispin shouted in his ear. ‘Mate, tell them your name, get us a VIP table.’

‘That’s not going to fucking work in here, is it, you muppet?’ James said. ‘In a muggle club?’

‘Ah, bollocks, no. Do… do muggles not know?’

‘Why would they-? You’re smashed.’

‘What?’

‘I said you’re smashed.’

‘Yah.’

The evening started to blur; they danced to music of a kind James had never really heard before, and he was drunkenly handing the weird muggle paper money over the bar and handing out drinks to his friends, though sometimes he turned and found that Crispin and Dee both already had some.

It was tightly packed in the room, especially on the dance floor. All four of them were forced close together - holding up the girls’ arms and letting them spin underneath them was not at all possible in here, and James found he was entering some sort of strange parallel world where the concept of personal space no longer existed, all of them pressed up against one another; it wasn’t awkward at all to have Hazel dancing against him, her body brushing against his.

Finally, when he and Hazel were queuing at the bar once more, he felt a rapid tapping on his arm. Dee was yelling something at him, her face no longer grinning but looking exasperated.

‘What?’ he roared at her.

The music pounded. ‘–’Pin — in the — get him up —’

‘What?’

She cupped her hand around his ear. ‘Crispin’s passed out in the smokers area.’

‘Fuck.’

He took Hazel by the arm and jerked his head to the follow Dee. Hazel frowned, but obeyed, and the three of them hurried out to the grotty bit of road outside, where two bouncers stood menacingly above Crispin, sat on the floor. Even as he sat he swayed.

‘Is this one yours?’ the bouncer said, gesturing with a jerk of his head.

‘Yeah, sorry mate - Cripsin! Crispin, you twat!’

‘Oh, hullo,’ slurred Crispin. He turned his bleary eyes to Dee. ‘You’re lovely,’ he said.

‘Get up,’ James muttered, and he slung Crispin’s arm around his shoulders and staggered, with considerable effort, up until his friend was slouched against him, reaching up and patting his face.

‘James,’ he said, repeatedly dragging his hand across James’s cheek. ‘James Potter.’

‘Yep.’

‘I kind of fancy your mum a bit.’

‘Great,’ said James, wincing as Dee and Hazel shrieked with laughter.

‘Don’t worry - I’m scared of your dad, so…’

‘I think it’s time you went home.’

Crispin hiccuped, straightened up, and pulled out a muggle note. ‘Vauxhall, please, mate,’ he said, holding out the money.

James winced at the other two. ‘I have been to his flat but I can’t for the life of me remember where it was or what number it was or anything like that.’

‘I know where he lives,’ said Dee. ‘If you help me get him in a cab, I’ll get him home and make sure he gets into bed.’

‘Ooh, how do you know where he lives, Dee?’ said Hazel teasingly, as Dee took Crispin’s other arm and helped James walk him to the road, busy with taxis.

‘Never you mind,’ said Dee, with more dignity than she perhaps deserved considering how frequently she was hiccuping.

‘Not gonna fucking get any like this, am I?’ mumbled Crispin, and now James burst out laughing.

‘No, certainly not,’ said Dee. ‘You wazzock, how did you manage to get like this?’

‘The secret’s out,’ James and Hazel jeered, but they threw Crispin into the back of a taxi, and laughed as they waved goodbye to the exasperated Dee that slid in alongside him.

‘Deee-anna!’ Crispin sang. ‘Deee-anna! My darling Deanna!’

‘Shut up,’ Dee told him. ‘You better not vomit on my shoes - see you guys after Christmas,’ she muttered at them.

‘Good luck!’ James called, and beside him Hazel blew them a kiss.

‘That’s the worst I’ve ever seen him,’ she giggled.

‘All this time we’ve been waiting for them to snog, they’ve already been shagging behind our backs by the looks of it,’ said James, waving at the taxi as it drove off.

‘I wonder if they’ve declared the relationship to your dad…’ said Hazel slyly.

‘Hah! God… Can you imagine? I’d love to be a fly on the wall.’

They laughed at the thought of it, but then seemed to realise that they were alone, standing at the edge of the road, surrounded by other drunken revellers and the noisy night traffic of taxis and buses and suspiciously flashy sports cars.

‘I suppose the night’s over,’ he said awkwardly.

‘I… yeah, I guess it is,’ she said, though neither of them moved.

‘I want to make sure you get home all right,’ he said. The job of looking after Crispin seemed to have sobered him slightly, though he knew he couldn’t be.

‘Oh, well, I was going to get the Knight Bus,’ she said reassuringly.

‘So was I,’ he said cheerfully. ‘We’ll get it together - but ask for your stop first.’

‘That’s… that’s nice, thanks,’ she said, smiling at him. But still neither of them moved. It felt very much to James that neither of them really wanted to go home yet - that they would have continued dancing if it hadn’t been for Crispin.

‘Let’s get some food before we go our separate ways though, yeah? Soak up some of the alcohol. Minimise the hangover,’ he said, and she ‘ooh’d’ and nodded enthusiastically. He grinned, and took her arm in his, both of them finally moving.

He blearily found himself in a greasy sort of shop, the lights staggeringly bright compared to everything else that evening, throwing them into ludicrous contrast as they stood there in their Christmas party best against the grotty tiles and garish boards advertising meal deals with strangely photographed burgers and chips. Hazel’s glittery dress was attaching the attention of some nearby men, but she ignored them.

‘I don’t get muggle money,’ James moaned, staring down at the strange coins in his hand and the last, crumpled note. ‘Have I got enough?’

‘Yeah,’ she said, ignoring the wolf whistles. ‘I’ll do it. What d’you want?’

‘It’s so tempting to curse them,’ he muttered, throwing them a glance. ‘Doesn’t matter what I want - what do you want?’

‘Just ignore them - no, you don’t have enough for two, don’t worry about me.’

‘Why not? Jus’ have mine,’ he said.

‘Well, you have enough for…’ she winced as one of the men shouted about her arse, ‘we could both get one thing each and then share chips.’

‘Yeah,’ he said, swaying slightly on the spot. ‘Yeah, let’s do-’

‘Come on, sweetheart, show us that pretty face,’ one of the men jeered.

She closed her eyes. ‘Fuck’s sake,’ she muttered.

‘C’mere,’ said James, ‘jus’ pretend you’re with me.’

To his surprise, because it had been a stupid, drunken idea, she did so at once, slipping an arm around his waist and tucking her head sweetly against his shoulder. He put his arm protectively around her shoulders (though it was also partly for balance, because he did feel very drunk) and they continued to queue in the crowded shop, staring determinedly up at the poorly designed menu.

‘I could jinx them as well,’ James whispered, for one of the men had started apologising to him, oblivious to James’s dark look. ‘It’s gross this has worked - let me hit them, my aunt would be so proud of me.’

Hazel snorted with laughter. ‘Don’t, please don’t - don’t bother - last thing we need, isn’t it?’ 

‘I know I just - ugh, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about my gender.’

‘Hah! You’re not all bad.’

‘We are. You know I’m also the worst - you tell me that all the time.’

‘Yeah, I know you’re bad, I’m saying other men aren’t bad.’

So they waited in the queue like that, and eventually an order number was called and the men collected their food, but he and Hazel stayed leaning against one another, his jaw resting on the top of her head. He felt very sleepy. He could probably fall asleep right here, on her soft hair, under the painfully glaring lights and horrible noise of the shop. They stayed like this even as they made up their minds, and ordered the food, and when Hazel broke away from him to hand over the money, she returned to lean back against him immediately. 

‘Number 65!’ shouted one of the women behind the counter.

‘Ooh, that’s us!’ called Hazel, raising a hand and hurrying forward; James staggered slightly without her support. They took their kebabs and chips and ventured back into the cold December air, where sleet-y snow was beginning to fall and create grey slush in the gutters.

‘Aren’t you freezing?’ exclaimed James,noticing the lack of sleeves on her dress and touching her tanned shoulder. It was like touching marble.

‘It gets to a point,’ she mumbled through some chips, ‘where you’re so cold and drunk you just don’t feel it.’

‘I think that’s called hypothermia.’

‘Yeah,’ she said, unconcernedly. ‘But a girl’s gotta do what - hey, no, you don’t have to-’

He was throwing his coat around her shoulders, and the cold night air seemed to bite at him at once. ‘Well, I do, or I’m just being a dick, aren’t I? Are you a Gryffindor or not? Do you not understand chivalry?’

‘Not,’ she said, hunching her shoulders into the coat gratefully. ‘We don’t have silly houses at Beauxbatons.’

‘Right, yeah - you’d be a Gryffindor though, if you’d gone to a proper school.’

‘Beauxbatons is a proper school! Shut up, Potter!’

‘Great comeback, Duarte, really quick.’

‘Apt description of your sex life,’ she said, breathless with laughter, and he grinned.

‘Right, with that, let’s get the bus, I’m freezing.’ He stuck out his wand arm, and within a second the purple Knight Bus had arrived with a bang, the surrounding muggles apparently unaware as they continued to stumble around, loudly singing carols and jeering at their friends.

James shivered and waited for the shadowy figure behind the warm yellow windows, foggy with condensation to make his way to the door. The conductor smiled at them initially, and then his eyes narrowed, and he held out a stubby little hand to halt them boarding.

‘Er, no, no, no, you can’t take those on here.’ He jerked his head accusingly at the food.

‘What?’ demanded James in outrage. ‘Why?’

‘You’ll stink the bus out, and get food on the beds!’ said the conductor furiously, gesturing to Hazel’s kebab, which, admittedly, was dripping grease down her fingers as she giggled.

‘But we’re wizards, just vanish any mess we make!’ argued James.

Hazel turned to him, and swallowed her chips heavily. ‘We’ll just have to wolf them down before we go-’

‘But it’s freezing! Come on, mate,’ he pleaded, looking back at the conductor. ‘It’s Christmas!’

He looked incredibly annoyed - no doubt sick of running up and down the country picking up drunk witches and wizards. But then, thought James, he chose the job.

‘Look,’ he snapped at them, ‘you can bring them on if you wrap them back up and keep them in a bag, eat them when you get home - not on my bus. If I catch you eating them on my bus-’

‘Fine, fine, fine,’ said James, swaying as he stood and handing over more money than was necessary.

‘Argh,’ said Hazel heavily, as they wrapped up their kebabs and clambered unsteadily on board, ‘well now we’re going to have to fight over the chips.’

‘Nah, just come to mine to eat them,’ he said casually, flopping down onto a bed. ‘And we can do more drinking!’

‘More drinking!’ she echoed gleefully.

The conductor cleared his throat irritably. ‘Where are you headed?’

‘Oh, sorry, mate - Sparrow Cottage, between Ottery St Catchpole and Trinton - Devon.’

The bus gave a loud bang and a sudden lurch; Hazel was flung, shrieking, onto James, who caught her with an ‘oof’, the chips from their bag flying out everywhere.

‘Shit, shit,’ he whispered as they both giggled hysterically, picking up the chips and shoving them back in the bag before the conductor saw.

With every lurch and swing of the bus, they were thrown against one another, clumsily rolling around on the bed, breathless with laughter, glared at by the other passengers, sneaking chips from the bag when they thought (wrongly) that they were unobserved, breathing on the glass to write mean things about each other with their fingers. James found himself reaching for her even when it wasn’t necessary - it felt fun to have her in his arms, exciting to feel her weight against him, easy to have her so close…

‘Sparrow Cottage,’ came the call at last, and then with laughing thank yous they were falling off the bus together, staggering up the garden path with their arms around one another’s shoulders, Hazel jabbering away about Crispin and Dee, James laughing but saying, ‘ssh! Ssh!’ in a very loud way.

They stumbled into the kitchen, sniggering and swaying, James trying to close the back door as quietly as he could but then immediately saying ‘ah, fuck!’ at a normal volume as he tripped over the little pile of wellies. Hazel laughed at him as he grasped hold of the kitchen counter.

‘Where’s your loo?’ she asked. ‘I’m bursting.’

‘Through there - that door,’ he said, pointing. ‘Want a night cap?’

‘Ooh, yes,’ she said, hurrying away.

‘What d’you want?’

‘I’ll stick with wine!’

So while she vanished into the downstairs bathroom, James vaguely remembered his parents were asleep upstairs and cast a muffliato charm over the kitchen. Then, his hands ridiculously clumsy and his head swimming a little, he stumbled into the pantry and rifled through the wine rack, squinting at the back of the bottles in the dim light. He did not feel nervous, or under pressure, or that anything was awkward or strange at all, but he did feel uncommonly excited, a strange sort of delight making his insides squirm.

Hazel returned a few minutes later, leaning on the doorway, smiling at him, the gold sequins of her dress catching the low light. ‘You still haven’t decided?’

‘This one… goes well with lamb, apparently,’ he slurred.

She laughed. ‘Are we having it with lamb?’

‘Those are lamb kebabs out there, aren’t they?’

She was giggling so much that her head seemed to loll as her shoulders shook, and she supported herself on the frame of the pantry door. ‘Good point.’

‘And it’s Portugese,’ he said, raising his eyebrows smugly at her before looking back down at the label. ‘From the… Du… Dower…’

She approached, and peered over his arm, then grinned up at him. ‘Douro Valley,’ she said, laughing.

‘Douro,’ he mimicked back at her, with a wobble of his head and a ridiculously over-the-top Portuguese accent.

She smacked his arm. ‘Shut up, that’s where I lived, my family’s still there!’

‘Are they really? Better be this one then.’

Their drunkenness mean that, as had been the case earlier, it did not feel strange or even bold to touch her, and neither did she seem to feel uncomfortable or anything but happy about it. It seemed to occur to neither of them how close their bodies were as he slung an arm around her and backed her, still laughing, out of the pantry and back into the kitchen, her hands seizing fistfuls of his robes to steady herself (or bring him down with her if she fell), his chin resting on the top of her head, their chests pressed against one another as they staggered inelegantly across the flagstone floor. Nor did it concern him, as she giggled, that their hips were touching.

He set the bottle on the kitchen island, and went to the cupboard to get glasses, and when he turned back around she had placed the heels of her palms on the island top and pushed herself up, hopping elegantly up onto it to sit with her tanned, bare legs swinging slightly as she reached for her food.

‘It’s usually port from round there,’ she said. ‘Are you sure it’s not port?’

‘It doesn’t say port on it. But clearly whoever bought this doesn’t know their wines as well as you-’ he twisted the corkscrew with considerable effort, ‘-or they’d have got port and we’d be having it with cheesy chips instead.’

She laughed, and the cork came out with a slight, echoing pop. He poured out the glasses and as he did so, said ‘Douro’ in that thick Portuguese accent again, because it made her laugh.

‘You’re butchering it!’ she mumbled, swallowing a mouthful of her food as he leaned against the counter beside her. ‘Douro.’

‘That’s what I’m saying. Douro.’

‘No, Douro!’ He handed her a glass of the wine, and she grinned teasingly at him. ‘And my name, get it right - the way you pronounce Duarte is hilarious.’

He was chewing on his food by now, and he threw his hands up in exasperation. ‘I pronounce it exactly like you just said it,’ he mumbled thickly.

‘No, you don’t.’

‘Well, now that you mention it, you haven’t been saying my name right either. It’s Potter, not Potter.’

She laughed again, and he, pleased, picked up his wine, sipped it, and swirled the glass. ‘And this is quite nice, I hope it’s not expensive. Douro.’

‘As if it pairs well with lamb kebabs,’ she snorted. ‘You’re so full of shit.’

‘Of course it does, aren’t you getting a bouquet of…’ he took a hefty, exaggerated sniff of the wine, ‘chips… and… flatbread?’

She joined in, putting on a haughty, dignified sort of voice. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Potter,’ she said, and for some reason his stomach lurched in a thrilled sort of way, ‘it’s clear to me that this is a full bodied wine with… notes of…’

‘Grape?’ he suggested.

‘Cherry,’ she announced.

He raised his eyebrows, and let his jaw drop slightly in an impressed expression as he picked the bottle back up and looked at the back of the label. ‘Wow… keep going…’ he said, raising the inflection of his voice in anticipation.

‘Oh my God, actually?’ she said excitedly. ‘Erm… ‘ she smelled it again. ‘Vanilla?’

He let his eyebrows raise further, and she gave an excited squeal. ‘It’s smokey too - I bet it says smokey on there, doesn’t it?’ He grinned at her, and she grinned back, clearly elated at her new found talent. ‘Are you serious?’

‘No,’ he said, laughing.

‘What?’ she spluttered.

‘No, you’re completely wrong - the label says it’s well-structured, powerful and fruity-’

‘No!’ she squealed, blushing and laughing. ‘Oh, James!’

‘-with fine tannins and a lasting finish. This is the perfect wine for a cold night and pairs well with rich lamb-’

‘You’re an arsehole!’

‘-or a platter of roasted vegetables,’ he finished, putting the bottle back down. ‘I think your back up career as a sommelier is out.’

‘Cherry is a fruit!’

‘True, the description isn’t great - it’s wine, there’s always going to be some fruit in there - you might have been right after all… it didn’t specify cherry though. Should’ve gone with grapes, like I did.’

The eventual remains of their food vanished away, they continued to argue good naturedly about wine, and what tannins were, and whether or not it had legs, James leaning against the counter, Hazel still sitting on top of it, so their faces were level, and perhaps far closer than they had ever been before.

‘No, no, ridiculous,’ she said, laughing, and he wasn’t sure if she realised, but as he leaned back to protest and gesture wildly about aerating wine, she moved her leg, so that he was stood between them, her knees touching his sides, and as she laughed her head fell down onto his shoulder as he swayed towards her. ‘You’re ridiculous, James.’ His laughter slowed as she giggled against him, and he closed his eyes because her hair felt achingly soft against his cheek, and he was suddenly aware of how close they were… he did not ever want to be further from her.

His hands were either side of her legs, on the cool marble of the counter top, gripping the edge, but they wanted nothing more than to be holding her closer still. Perhaps she noticed something change in him, because she stopped laughing too, and raised her head to look at him, their faces mere inches apart.

Her lips were slightly parted, she was still slightly breathless from the laughter, and her dark eyes were shining up at him like the depths of some vast lake, or smoke, endless and mysterious. They were both breathing loudly, the moment stretching between them, suspended in this agonising edge, what either of them were waiting for he wasn’t….

_Oh._

He knew in that moment that whatever it was that would make her happy, no matter what it was, even if it was agonisingly painful, he would do it. It was not that he fell in love at that moment exactly, but rather that he knew he had gradually been growing a love for her over all these years, a softer kind of love, one that had slowly overtaken him without him thinking about it or noticing, one that now hit him like a thunderbolt but made him realise that he shouldn’t be surprised, because he had been in the midst of a storm. That feeling he usually had, when he fell in love, that tingling excitement as his mind leapt into imagining a house and children running to greet him at the door and a smiling, loving wife was entirely absent. Instead, he felt something akin to fear, because he realised all at once that a life without her would be utterly unbearable, and that he wanted, more than anything to ensure that he was always at her side, always there to hear her laugh and to tease one another and to sink into that easy joy she brought him, because if he wasn’t - if she was gone or she left - he didn’t think he would ever be able to capture that sort of happiness again. It was suddenly clear to him that she could plunge him into untold misery, simply by walking away, and his only comfort that he would be able to cling onto would be that she, herself, might be happy.

And she was staring at him like she was realising the same thing. That in their foolish fun, teasing one another and laughing and stumbling around perhaps more than necessary so that they could grab hold of one another, something had happened, some spark had been struck, something had changed, something just nudged them, ever so slightly…

She was leaning close to him now, very close, his vision was filled with her long, dark lashes and her smooth skin, and just out of focus the golden shimmer of her dress, her lips were achingly close…

‘James,’ she whispered.

He leaned forward just a fraction more, and their lips met.

His heart might have been beating out of his open chest, the very room might as well have been on fire around him, the world might be trembling and crumbling away. But nothing mattered beyond her hands on either side of his neck, her long fingers lacing up into his hair, and his hands, one on her warm thigh and the other at her back, pulling her slightly towards him. This is Hazel, he thought somewhere in the far depths of his mind. This is Hazel. Bloody hell.

Her lips moved slowly against his, kissing him back, and they tasted of red wine. They broke apart gently, and though he felt almost afraid, he pulled his eyes up, away from her lips (had he never appreciated her lips before? Surely he had?), back to her dark eyes.

She was blinking at him, stunned. Though she was perfectly still, there was something in the air around her that trembled. She took a shuddering breath, and then, her voice so quiet he wasn’t sure he had truly heard it or imagined it, she asked, ‘why did you do that?’

‘I…’ James’s voice was hoarse too now. ‘I realised… just now… that I’ve wanted to for a very long time.’ It occurred to him that she might not have wanted to kiss him, that she might not feel the same, that she might simply be a bit drunk like he was, that perhaps he had done something wrong and terrible; immediately he pulled away, removed his hand from his thigh, took a few steps back. He looked apologetically at her, terrified that he might have ruined it all - had he realised this earth-shattering feeling when he was sober, he might have supposed that she wouldn’t want that, wouldn’t have risked her friendship, would have buried the feelings deep down until they went away or no longer mattered, no longer hurt.

‘I’m sorry,’ he breathed.

She was staring at him as though seeing him for the very first time, her chest rising and falling as she took deep breaths, the sequins winking in the low light. She slipped off the counter so that she stood before him, and looked up at his face. She shook her head slightly. ‘Don’t be,’ she whispered. ‘I realised the same.’

And then her arms were round him once again, pulling him down to press her lips against his, and this time there was no hesitancy, no surprise - there was power and purpose and fierce want behind it, from the way she clasped the front of his shirt to the way she hummed slightly against his kiss. Time might have frozen, there was nothing else in the world but the two of them, their lips moving together, clutching one another close, the mad beating of their hearts.

She raised her leg up to his hip and at once his hand ran along it and lifted her as she hopped nimbly up, reaching for the other so she was straddling him, both of them still kissing furiously, desperately, urgently, as he carried her swiftly and easily the couple of steps back to the kitchen counter. She leaned back slightly, but pulled him with her, so he was braced against the cool surface of the counter once again, realising in baffled amazement that her body was stretched out before him, her back arching, her legs were still wrapped around him, her heel pressing hard against his bum as she kissed him passionately, running her hands through his hair. There was a lurching sort of feeling somewhere below his navel, and when she tilted her head back he kissed down her exposed neck, her perfume fogging his mind, the hem of her dress higher now than he had intended it to be, just skimming over his fingers.

He wanted to trail kisses further down her neck, follow that bare, smooth skin where the v of her dress plunged, wanted to worship her, but then she sighed and, like an innate instinct, he rose once more to kiss her lips.

‘I want you,’ she gasped, in the brief moment their lips parted. ‘James - I want-’

‘Not here,’ he muttered. ‘Bedroom.’

‘Yes,’ she breathed, and she hooked her arms around him again as he lifted her, carrying her through to the dark living room and over to the stairs, hoping that she wouldn’t spot all the embarrassing childhood photos Mum and Dad refused to take down from the walls. To help distract her from looking around, he tried to kiss her as he went, but whether it was the alcohol or simply his inability to walk, kiss and carry someone at the same time, he stumbled on the first step of the curved living room stairs.

She gave a little squeal as they fell, bracing themselves in a tangle of limbs against the stairs, her snorting with laughter as he laughed too, but said, ‘ssh, ssh! Sorry!’

‘Did you just drop me?’ she whispered, shaking with laughter.

‘No, I’m - extremely strong - I just thought you might want to sit here for a second,’ he tried, grinning at her. ‘Have a little rest.’

She beamed at him, it made his insides seem to flutter, then she grabbed the collar of his robes again and pulled him down into another deep kiss, her fingers fumbling over the buttons of his shirt. She started to shift backwards, pushing herself up the stairs, clumsily dragging him with her. He pulled back.

‘Are you sure you-?’

‘Shut up, Potter,’ she told him, and she kissed him again.

They made their way up the stairs, she impressively going backwards and still fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as they kissed, his hand steadying the swinging frame of a picture that they had knocked as they passed, glad that her smokey eyes were closed so that she did not see he and Al waving out of the photograph, a gurgling baby Lily wedged between them.

They were clumsy and a little rough with one another as they stumbled into his room; they both kept lightly giggling between the kisses, their hands roaming, and James supposed that, like he was, she was in shocked disbelief that it was happening. She was pushing his shirt off his shoulders as he used their own desperately kissing bodies to lean against and close the door behind them, the sequins of her dress scratching against his skin, giving him a wild urge to rip the bloody thing off her. He vaguely remembered about the shared wall between his room and his parents’, and he just about managed to fumble for his wand and mutter the silencing charm as she kissed along his jaw and ran her hands down his chest.

She seemed to glow, and he might have been glowing with her. In the middle of his room he pulled down the zip of her dress and kissed the olive skin of her shoulder, the dress falling to the floor and pooling around their feet like a hundred falling stars. His mind was hazy and blank and stunned and overjoyed and awed and disbelieving as she grinned and knelt in the middle of his bed. He knelt in front of her and delighted in her, laughing with her as he struggled with the strap of her bra and she aggressively threw it over his shoulder, muttered that he was an idiot, and then grabbed his face and pulled him down once again.

Because he knew her, better than he perhaps knew anyone else outside his family, and so it did not feel strange to be so comfortable, he did not feel the need to think about how to be sexy or suave or any of that - they were laughing together, actually laughing as they kissed and touched and undressed one another. He cupped her breast, his lips pressed against her collarbone, something inside him exploding in trembling anticipation.

His breath hitched in his throat as she reached down and grasped him; her eyes widened with an excited look of triumph, and she grinned as though she had caught him out with some sort of witty comeback or savage insult.

‘Wow,’ he was muttering stupidly, and with any other witch he had been with this might have been something he felt embarrassed about. ‘Wow, Hazel. You’re - Hazel.’

‘James,’ she said back, and she laughed, her back arching so her body pressed against his. ‘I can’t believe-’

‘I know.’

‘I didn’t think you-’

‘I didn’t think you-!’

And then they were clumsily rearranging themselves, she stretching herself out on the covers of his bed, he gazing down in amazement. She was so beautiful - he had always known this, you would have to be blind not to notice, but it stunned him now, now that he was seeing her as he had never imagined seeing her. He kissed everywhere he could find, over her warm, soft skin, the swell of her breasts, his tongue over her nipples as she gasped and smiled and writhed slightly, and then trailing lower still. His hands paused over the black lace of her knickers, and he looked hesitantly up.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘Is this all right?’

She propped herself up on her elbows, and nodded, biting her lip. Her hair had come loose slightly, tendrils of hair fell softly around her face, the tinsel still just about clinging to the bun that now hung low, twinkling in the low light from his lamps. ‘I want it,’ she said. ‘Please.’

She never had been once to dance around her words. He liked that very much about her.

He slid the lace down her long, tanned legs, and she reached as though to pull him back up to her, but he lowered his head with a fierce, intense sort of determination because if there was one thing he was particularly confident about (and it was no secret that he was confident about a lot), it was this.

Her stomach twitched, he could see the shivers of her skin as his tongue swirled and lapped and she hummed and whimpered. The wine they had drunk that night was no match for her taste and scent and how it intoxicated him. Her hands moved across the duvet, grasping at the sheets while his hands caressed against her thighs and hips. His hand rose up to brush over her breast again, and as he crescendo built he could see her looking down at him, her lips parted as she panted heavily, one of her own hands reaching helplessly into her hair, gazing at him as though astounded. Colour was spreading on her cheeks, and his own breath was becoming shallower and faster as he pressed his face against her, felt her thigh against the side of his face, tried desperately to resist reaching down to himself to relive the mounting need there. He adored her, completely; adored the sounds she was making and the way she was moving and the blush dancing across her skin and how he could feel her feet moving taut against his legs and her hips jerking as he swirled steady circles over her and she cried out louder than ever-

‘James,’ she whispered, breathing heavily as he rose and knelt above her. She sounded almost shocked, staring up at him with those wide, dark eyes, propping herself back onto her elbows.

‘Are you all right?’ he checked again, and she gave a strangled sort of cry and pushed herself up, her hand pressed against his chest as she rolled them over, straddling him at once and ducking down to kiss him with a renewed ferocity.

His mouth fell open silently as she lowered herself with a great sigh, as though she had needed it, as though she had been in desperation for it. Her hips waved against him, her head tilting back as her dark hair fell even looser and rippled against her shoulders as she rocked.

He was swearing, he realised, muttered rumbles of incomprehensible swearwords entangled with her name, his head swimming. She felt too far away, too distant from him, he needed her close, and so with one steadying hand on her lower back, he pulled himself up to a sitting position.

She continued that pulsing rhythm but held him close, their foreheads pressed together, their gasps and panting breaths breezing across each others lips, his hand sliding from her lower back to grasp the curve of her bum, while the other lovingly caressed up her side and onto her breasts once more. Her own nails were scratching against his back, were caressing through his hair to send shivers along his scalp, the heat from their bodies almost smothering.

‘Hazel,’ he was panting, like a murmuring prayer, and when their lips caught they kissed, collapsing onto one another, locked in this heady embrace, the sound of flesh against flesh surrounding them. His hips matched hers, and he tilted her back slightly, ducking his head down once more to kiss as much of her as possible as he supported her in his arms. The shift in angle made her cry change too, in pitch or tone or however his muddled brain could describe it, but once again that dusky blush was spreading over her, he could feel the heat from it against his own skin, against his own lips. She was burning, her smokey eyes closing in pleasure, her lips parting into an ‘o’, and he couldn’t help it, he had to, he had to reach up and trace over them softly with his thumb because he had never seen anything so alluring, so beautiful…

She cried out once more, and he lost himself in her.

With a great groan, he tensed and twitched beneath her, his face buried in her neck, and then they were left, almost shivering together, still breathless and panting, their hands still clutching each other. They stayed like that for what may have been seconds or minutes or possibly several perfect nights, before Hazel breathed in deeply, swallowed, and clumsily pulled away from him.

‘Do you have any potion-?’ he remembered suddenly.

‘I - yes, actually, I - in my bag - I left it-’

‘OK. I’ll get it.’

He rolled off the bed, and stumbled a little as he pulled on his trousers. It had all felt so smooth and elegant and graceful, but now he was acutely aware of his lack of coordination. He hurried silently back downstairs, his heart thudding and his head spinning, still hardly daring to believe what had just happened, basking in the life-changing, swooping, meaning of it.

In the kitchen, he hastily cleared away their wine glasses and grabbed her sparkly clutch bag, still sitting there on the counter and twinkling innocently in the low light. He brought it back up to his room with a large glass of water, and when he entered he found Hazel had slipped beneath his duvet. It was, he realised for the first time, quite cold.

‘Haze,’ he whispered softly, placing the water on the bedside table. She was on the verge of sleep; her eyes fluttered back open and she smiled at him as he handed her the clutch bag, and fumbled inside it until she pulled out a little green bottle.

‘Did you know you’d be using that?’ he asked, staggering around the other side of the bed and pulling off his trousers again.

She laughed softly. ‘No. There’s a lot I didn’t know would happen tonight.’

He got into bed beside her. It felt so natural, so normal, like he had done it a thousand times before. He watched as she drank the potion, and then she shifted so that she was lying curled up against him, his lips pressed against her forehead, the smell of her hair surrounding him.

‘I’m so glad this happened,’ he said, after several minutes. ‘You’re my best friend, I’ve been so stupid not to realise there was something more.’

But as he looked down, he could see the soft rise and fall of her chest, her relaxed arm laying heavily over his waist. She was asleep.


	18. Oh My God

The office was eerily quiet. In those strange few days between Christmas and new year, only a rotating skeleton crew was expected, and Hazel, having got a portkey back from her parents’ just the day before, found her part of the office entirely silent and empty, the lamps flickering up as she walked past them, her footsteps uncommonly loud on the creaking floor.

Her cubicle seemed utterly bizarre too - the Christmas decorations looked forlorn and a little tacky now that Christmas was over and there was no one around, like something that had been abandoned. James’s desk sat utterly empty. She stared at it for a long time. He had been in, she realised, at some point after Christmas, because they had all tidied everything away for the Christmas party, but he had left some files out and there was a mug still sitting on the desk. She peered into it. It wasn’t quite fuzzy yet, maybe a day or two old. It was very strange to think of him sitting in here alone. She wondered if he had looked at her desk, and felt the same strange feeling that was swirling in her stomach, like an aching loneliness.

‘All right?’ came a cheerful voice, and it was so sudden that Hazel jumped in a panic. Dee stood grinning at the entrance of the cubicle. ‘Good Christmas? I thought I was going to be so bored today, but I saw you on the rota and I could have cried with relief - we’ll have a good doss day, I reckon.’

‘I - yeah,’ said Hazel, rather disconcerted. ‘I didn’t realise you’d be in either - who else is?’

‘Just one senior auror - Davies. I think he’s asleep in his office. And that trainee Beaton, but he’s just settled into his cube with a book. We might as well be on our own - fancy putting some music on in the break room?’

‘Shouldn’t we do some work?’ Hazel asked uneasily.

‘No one expects you to do work between Christmas and new year, Haze, we just have to be in to raise the alarm if someone does a murder or something.’

‘It looks like James did some,’ said Hazel, glancing at the files still scattered on James’s desk.

‘Really?’ she said, leaning in and looking with great surprise. ‘What a weirdo. Anyway, come on.’

She took Hazel by the arm and escorted her to the break room, through the strangely quiet department. In the break room, scattered with mismatched sofas and chairs and tables, was the Christmas rota, hastily pinned up on a cupboard between notices about the next mind healer dates, diversity week and wand keeping good practice (‘Good wizards have lost buttocks - say no to lazy pocketing’). With a quick glance, Hazel could see that James had been in the office just three days prior, on Boxing Day. It had only been him and Auror Potter in the office. She wondered if they had discussed it, if Auror Potter had already lectured James on the complete inappropriateness of it, the irresponsibility, the lack of professionalism...

‘That’s probably why he ended up doing work,’ said Dee shrewdly. ‘His dad probably expects it.’

Dee seemed to have decided that the kneazle was out of the bag, so after this momentary diversion she did not pause at all in telling Hazel all about what a nightmare Crispin had been after the party, discussing her boyfriend of nearly a year as though Hazel had known about him the whole time.

‘-I mean, the stupid posh twat, he got it in his head that rather than just go to bed, he wanted to make a chicken and avocado sandwich - I ask you! - clattering around his kitchen while I tried to shout him into pyjamas and into bed-’

‘Did you manage it in the end?’ asked Hazel, fussing with the coffee press, who usually might have been giggling at the thought of it all.

‘Well, sort of, he went to bed but he took his sandwich with him and it all fell apart on his sheets, it was revolting. I tell you what, you expect posh boys like that to have a bit of dignity, but they’re all the same, aren’t they? Knobhead,’ she added for good measure.

Hazel smiled, and poured a little milk into her coffee.

‘Anyway, how was your Christmas?’ she said at last.

She took a sip of her coffee rather than answer at first, wondering how to phrase it, or whether she even should. Dee looked expectantly, but Hazel did not answer. ‘Why didn’t you tell us you were dating?’ she asked instead. ‘You and Crispin.’

Dee didn’t look in the slightest bit ashamed. ‘We were told to keep it low key at work, and just thought it’d be easier to keep it secret for now. We’d have told you once we were moving in together, but my lease isn’t up for months. Plus, it’s sort of sexy keeping it secret, sorry. I know that’s TMI.’

‘It’s quite serious then,’ said Hazel, her eyebrows raising. Dee nodded casually. ‘And you’ve already told work?’

Dee gave an odd, dry laugh. ‘Yeah, well, you have to, don’t you? It was so awkward. Us on one side of the desk and Auror Potter on the other, discussing professional standards and boundaries, all the while thinking, fuck, I hope he’s not hinting that he knows we snog in the records room.’

Her stomach turned over. ‘Right, yeah, sounds awkward…’

‘Oh, it was all right, he’s clearly heard it all before, he was quite matter of fact about it.’ She hummed in sudden, remembered amusement. ‘Crispin admitting he fancies Mrs Potter! Hilarious, I haven’t stopped taking the piss since. I told him he has to go and declare it when work starts back up properly again.’

But Hazel was barely listening, just staring down into her coffee. It was, she realised with a pathetic lurch, a very familiar shade of warm brown. She knew it very well, because those eyes had been so close to her own, gazing at her with an intense, blazing sort of look…

‘Haze?’ prompted Dee. Hazel looked up, and realised she had forgotten to laugh at what Deanna had said; her weak smile did nothing to shift the concern from Dee’s face.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked. ‘Has something happened? How was Portugal? You were looking forward to-’

‘I slept with James,’ Hazel blurted out before she could stop herself.

Dee froze. ‘What?’

‘I slept with James,’ Hazel repeated. Her voice was strained, panicky, as though she were in a rush, though of course she wasn’t. ‘After the Christmas party.’

‘Oh my God,’ said Deanna.

‘I know.’

‘Oh my God.’

‘Yeah.’

‘OH MY-’

‘Dee!’ she called miserably. ‘Stop, I-’

‘How?’ exclaimed Dee, her eyebrows raised so high that they were at risk of vanishing into her hairline.

Hazel winced. ‘I’m not going to tell you-’

‘Eugh, no, I didn’t mean how like that, I mean how did it happen? We left you both plastered in Soho, how on earth did you-?’

‘We went back to his - we got food, and then went back to his, and then, I dunno, we just ended up kissing and then-’

‘OH MY GO-’

‘Ssh!’ Even though no one was in the office, no one was around, no one could overhear them, Hazel still felt utterly overwhelmed at the realisation that they were loudly discussing this in the middle of the break room; she half expected Auror Hodges to walk in. ‘I know,’ she muttered. ‘It just… I don’t know, it just happened.’

‘Was he good?’ Dee asked in a low voice.

Hazel looked darkly at her. ‘Yes,’ she admitted quietly. ‘For someone so drunk he was surprisingly…’ Dee’s eyebrows raised yet further, ‘competent,’ Hazel finished firmly.

Dee snorted. ‘Only you would describe sex as competent. I’ll tell him you said that, he’ll never let you live it down-’

‘No, don’t-’ spluttered Hazel frantically.

‘I’m obviously joking, I wasn’t-’

‘It’s not fair on him, because he was brilliant, quite frankly, he knows what he’s doing and I keep thinking about what he’d be like if he wasn’t drunk-’

‘Wow,’ said Dee flatly, ‘I really - I don’t need to know-’

‘-But it doesn’t matter, because I’m fairly sure I’ve made him feel like shit anyway-’

‘What? Why?’

Hazel winced, and looked back down at her coffee. ‘I… I just sort of panicked in the morning. I think I was a bit… brusque with him.’

‘Brusque?’

Hazel could not elaborate. She could only close her eyes as she remembered the sink of his shoulders, the blush on his freckle-splattered cheeks, the quiet ‘bye’ as she had practically fled from the room…

‘Look, I’m sure it’ll be fine,’ said Dee reassuringly. ‘I mean… what… what do you want from it?’

Hazel closed her eyes. They were starting to prickle, hot and embarrassingly wet. ‘I…’ she said, and her voice was hoarse.

‘Haze!’ exclaimed Dee, grasping her arm - Hazel opened her eyes and tried to blink away the tears as she looked at her shocked friend. ‘Hazel, I-’ Dee was suddenly serious and unsettled looking, ‘was it…? It was all… OK, wasn’t it? You - you wanted to-’

‘Oh, God, yes,’ said Hazel swiftly. ‘Really, I know we were drunk, but it wasn’t like that - he was really sweet, he-’

‘So what’s the problem?’

‘The problem?’ Hazel whispered, as though anyone were around to hear. ‘The problem is he’s my boss’s son-’

‘So?’

‘And… and…’ She wiped impatiently at her eyes, feeling utterly humiliated at her uncharacteristic display of emotion. ‘And… you know,’ she said, her voice wobbling, ‘he’s such a good friend - my best friend, really - and I might have ruined it all-’

‘Don’t be silly, of course you haven’t!’

‘But I have! Oh, Dee, I haven’t even told you the worst part...’

‘What?’

Hazel buried her face in her hands, and muttered the confession so quietly that Dee had to ask several times for her to repeat it. ‘It was his parents' house and they both saw me leave the next morning.’

Dee’s horrified gasp was so loud that it felt like Hazel had been stripped naked in front of a large audience. ‘I know!’

‘Auror… Auror Potter saw you?’

‘Yes!’ Hazel wailed.

‘It’s not that bad,’ said Dee quickly.

‘Of course it is!’ Hazel snapped.

‘It’s not! It doesn’t matter, these things happen - look-’ She pulled Hazel across the room and sat her down on one of the cheap sofas, sitting beside her with a comforting arm. When she spoke, it was with the tone of someone very motherly and gentle, though what she said was not anything Hazel could ever imagine her mother saying. ‘Do you want to shag him again, or do you want to pretend it never happened?’

‘I... ‘ Hazel swore. ‘I don’t know - I think I do… I realised that I… but I was so drunk,’ she said suddenly, looking at Dee urgently. ‘I mean, you think all sorts of mad stuff when you’re drunk, don’t you?’ Dee squinted at her, but Hazel ploughed on. ‘And he might be the same - you know what he’s like, it’s a new girl every few months-’

‘Oh!’ Dee said, somewhere between sympathetic and scathing. ‘Don’t say that, you make him sound like a knobhead, he’s just a bit unlucky, that’s all. I really thought it might work out with him and that Clara girl.’

This irritated Hazel so much that she leapt to her feet and began to pace, running her hands through her hair, her very veins seeming to tremble with pounding blood. ‘Look, the fact is that no matter what I thought at the time, no matter what stupid realisations were going through my head, it was a stupid thing to do, and it’s quite possibly ruined my career and maybe a very good friendship-’

‘But why would it-’

‘Not to mention we have to work together, assuming, of course, that I’m not sacked for this-’

‘Why on earth would you be-?’

‘-It’s just going to be really awkward now, sharing a desk when I’ve seen his dick and he’s seen my-’

‘Look, Hazel,’ said Dee sharply, ‘do you want to shag him again or not?’

Hazel spun on her heels to face Dee, her hands still grasping her hair, her face wincing. ‘What if it didn’t work?’ she said quietly. ‘What if we did all the right stuff, went through the embarrassment of having to sit in front of his Dad and formally declare it all, and then it didn’t work. People always say they’ll stay friends, but they never do, really, do they?’

‘Course they do,’ said Dee unconvincingly. ‘Some of them. Not the same as before but-’

‘I would need it to be the same as before,’ said Hazel. ‘But that’s already gone, we can’t go back from that. Something shifted, Dee, something changed. I can’t… I couldn’t…’

‘Oh my God,’ said Dee, once again, but this time she was whispering it. ‘Are you in love with him?’

‘Don’t say that,’ said Hazel harshly. ‘I mean it, Dee, don’t.’

‘If you are, then-’

‘Stop it.’

‘What does he say about it all? What does he-?’

‘I don’t know, I haven’t spoken to him.’

Dee balked. ‘It’s… been over a week, Hazel. Ten days.’

Hazel rubbed her eyes. ‘I know… but it was Christmas, wasn’t it?’

Dee nodded, but was silent.

‘It’s really awful, isn’t it? Is it awful, what I’ve done?’

‘No…’

Hazel swore, and started to pace again.

‘D’you think he might love you back, then?’

‘No,’ snapped Hazel. ‘I don’t know. Don’t say that. I don’t know. He probably says that sort of stuff to every girl he-’

‘What sort of stuff?’

She didn’t want to answer, so she turned to the offensive. ‘He hasn’t written to me either!’ she shot. ‘He - he…’ she closed her eyes again.

She did not want to admit it, the feeling that was pounding and beating through her veins. It was like adrenaline, this deep rooted fear, this strange, terrifying sort of feeling that had consumed her over the last ten days. This admittance that kept cropping up in her mind with hazy visions of his eyes and his murmuring voice and his hands grasping her and his laughter. The sink of his shoulders, the crestfallen expression, the sheepish grin before she had spoken. She did not want to allow herself to believe, to hope, because to do so would be to admit that she had been cold with him, that she might have ruined things further, made even more of a mess than what she was already in.

‘I lashed out,’ she said hollowly. ‘I told him we could forget it. He might want to do that too.’

‘Why did you say that?’ asked Dee softly.

‘I don’t know,’ admitted Hazel. ‘I didn’t want to presume. I still don’t want to presume.’

‘Then you need to talk to him,’ Dee emphasised.

‘I know. I said that - I said we would talk when I wasn’t hungover.’

Dee leapt up, and crossed the room in quick strides, over to the rota. ‘Well… neither of you are in tomorrow. But New Years Eve will be interesting.’


	19. Aloof

They stumbled in from the pub, James still delighted that he had had someone to bring, and even more thrilled that Clara had been glamorous, funny, interesting, and every time he had looked over either she or the person she had been talking to was laughing uproariously. 

‘Did you like them all?’ he asked, heading straight for the sink to get himself a large glass of water. God that wine had been cheap piss. 

‘Oh my god, Crispin was so funny, you were right!’ Clara said enthusiastically. ‘He had me in stitches, and it turns out we've both been to Peru.’ 

‘Yeah, he's great,’ James said happily, taking his water and sitting heavily on the sofa. ‘I reckon him and Dee are going to get tog-'

‘Oh, Deanna! I loved her!’ Clara burst out. ‘That accent too – she’s so bolshy and dry. I didn’t know if I fancied her or just wanted to be her.’ 

James let out a bark of laughter. ‘She’s always been like that, even when we were at school.’ 

‘Did you ever date her?’ Clara asked mischievously. ‘Go on, I’m not the jealous type-' 

‘I know you’re not,’ he said fondly. ‘And yeah, er, kinda. Briefly. We were very young though.’ 

‘Your first love?’ she teased. 

‘We held hands,’ he said seriously. ‘One time, I even kissed her on the lips.’ 

She gasped as though scandalized, hopping about on one foot as she pulled off her high heeled boots. ‘James! How old were you?’ 

‘Twelve.’ 

‘Naughty boy!’ 

‘I know. She broke my heart.’ 

‘Aw, did she?’ 

‘No, we were just too embarrassed to look at each other for a few months,’ he said through laughter. He took long gulps from his water, hoping desperately to stave off the hangover that would surely come otherwise. ‘And when we hadn’t spoken to each other for several weeks I think we both had to accept that we didn’t want to be boyfriend and girlfriend.’

‘Well, I’m sorry it didn’t work out, she seemed very nice,’ said Clara. 

‘For the best, I think, she's a good friend,’ he said, between gulps. 

‘You don’t ever fancy her a little bit?’ Clara prodded gently, and James raised his eyebrows at her. 

‘No.’ 

‘There’s no shame in it, I just told you that I did,’ said Clara.

‘Nah, I’ve known her too long, it would be weird.’ He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Should I be worried about you and her?’ 

Clara winked at him. He loved that they could joke around like this. He loved how easy it was. She was so wonderful.

‘That Hazel was a bit cold,’ she said vaguely, pulling her hair pins out and tussling the long blonde waves. 

He swallowed his water, and blinked at her in surprise. ‘Cold? How d'you mean?’ 

Clara shrugged. ‘I don’t know, she just wasn’t very forthcoming. A bit aloof. I got the impression she'd have been happy sitting in silence.’ 

‘Oh,’ said James, who could not quite find the words to describe the odd tugging feeling in his stomach. 

‘You've never got that?’ She asked, and she looked just as surprised as him. 

‘Well... I dunno, I really annoyed her when I first met her, but, y'know that was on purpose. I found it funny.’

Clara burst out laughing. ‘You knobhead,’ she said affectionately, and he grinned with a sheepish shrug.

‘If she was aloof I was too self-absorbed to notice, I can annoy anyone into being friends with me. That’s what you’ll have to try next time.’ 

She grinned wickedly and to his delight pushed him back slightly against the sofa so that she could straddle him. ‘Can’t we just hang out with your colleagues that are friendly and fun from the off?’ 

‘She is friendly and fun!’ he protested, though he was a little distracted by his excellent view. ‘Once you get to know her.’ 

‘Hmm,’ said Clara dismissively, and she kissed him deeply. His hands slid up onto her hips, and they didn’t make it to the bedroom. 

It was not until the next day, while they both lounged on the sofa eating endless toast to try and fill themselves up for the hangover potion that he remembered what she had said about Hazel. 

‘What are you frowning about?’ Clara asked, nudging him with her foot. 

‘Sorry – just thinking about what you said about Hazel. I’ve never thought of her as cold or aloof. Just wondering if I’m blindingly oblivious to people hating me.’ 

‘I think you were right last night,’ she said. ‘I think you annoyed her into liking you.’ 

‘Well she likes Crispin and Dee too, and neither of them have ever-' 

‘I wasn’t trying to insult her or anything,’ said Clara, suddenly irritable. ‘I didn’t mean it like that – maybe she just didn’t like me.’ 

‘Who could not like you?’ he asked. ‘Everyone's always telling me, “James, we love your girlfriend, she made me realise how aloof all my friends are"- ow!’ 

She had smacked him playfully. ‘You were right, she's probably just shy,’ she said. ‘More of a listener. She seemed really interested in my time in the Galapagos anyway.’


	20. Pretty

She did not like the word ‘pretty'.

‘Pretty’ was for fragile little things. Flowers and twee dresses and clouds and little girls. Out of the dozens, maybe hundreds of words to say something was beautiful or attractive or aesthetically pleasing, pretty was the worst. It felt cooing, patronising – if someone called you pretty it felt as though they were bestowing it on you, somehow, reminding you how fragile you were. You were not beautiful – that was something serene and graceful. You were not stunning, that was something that had an effect on other people, gave you the power – your looks could literally stun me. You were not gorgeous – that was rich and indulgent and tempting.

You were pretty. Delicate. Sweet. Childish.

I think you’re pretty. I think you’re like a flower. Or a little bird. Or a lace doily.

She had told Mark this, and he'd stared at her blankly before laughing.

‘You’re reading too much into it, babe.’

‘I don’t care if I am,’ she shrugged. ‘I just don’t like it. You were the one who asked why.’

‘But that’s stupid.’

‘You asked!’

‘But it makes no sense. Logically-'

‘Not everything has to be logical.’

That had annoyed him a lot, because he fancied himself very logical, as people who value logic always seemed to do. It did not matter that, to Hazel, the logical response to her very visceral reaction to being called pretty was to ask her boyfriend to not call her that. No, the logical response for Mark was that she should simply get over it. The logical response, for him, was to keep poking and prodding and asserting his right to compliment her in the way that he wanted, then to poke and prod further when she wasn’t grateful for the word he had bestowed upon her.

Pretty.

There was no elegance in the word either. The purse of the lips at the start and the hard t's that English people ended up skipping in an ugly glutteral stop, the ‘ee' noise that didn’t seem to go anywhere. The Portugese ‘gira' was nicer. Softer. But of course, she wasn’t in Portugal.

She could understand him forgetting sometimes. That seemed reasonable. It was a common word, and she seemed to be the only one with hang ups around it. But what she couldn’t understand was that with every argument about it, every patient explanation that dodged the real issue, it only seemed to make it worse. Rather than reminding him to avoid it, it seemed to encourage him to use it more.

James wasn’t coming to the pub – he had some date, or so he claimed – and it irritated her slightly. She wasn’t sure why – he seemed to find Mark amusing (not deliberately) at the very best, and down right aggravating at the worst. But she quite liked it when he was around, because he seemed to take Mark down a peg or two, and she found herself guiltily realising that she got a thrill out of seeing Mark wound up. She would never voice this to anyone, of course, because it seemed rather bitchy. Rather cold. But when he always won their arguments, it was nice to see him meet his match.

‘You took ages,’ Mark said, when she had reached them, ignoring James and Dee yelling across the office at one another.

‘I didn’t take that long, we're not in a rush,’ she replied. He only scowled.

Some of the LEP lot were with them, and while she liked them well enough she didn’t really know any of them, so it was a bit awkward, heading along Birdcage Walk to the pub in silence. Mark was chatting easily away with his colleagues, Dee and Crispin were painfully flirting ahead, and Hazel was left walking alongside Mark's colleague Anya, desperately trying to think of something to say. Everyone said they hated small talk, but Hazel felt sure she struggled with it more than others – once she had rattled through the basic information and asked her how her day was, she couldn’t fathom what it was she was supposed to say now, how she was meant to spark a conversation. Some people were good at that sort of thing – James would probably goad them or make enough self depreciating jokes until people forgot they had only just met him. His tactic to move past the small talk phase was apparently to just get people to feel some sort of emotion. Usually annoyance or bemusement. But Hazel was constrained by her own shyness, by her own reserved nature. She was someone who liked to sit back and listen first, or let someone more confident take the lead. When she was walking alongside someone else equally as quiet, all that ever happened was an uncomfortable silence, where she wrestled with her own self-conscious to try and find some interest in the other person.

They reached the pub, and it was a muggle one, so they had to be careful about how they talked and keep their wands out the way, but they liked to head up the creaking stairs to the smaller bar upstairs that offered a little more privacy from the muggle civil servants and journalists that frequented The Two Chairmen.

The problems started almost immediately, when they settled around a table and started discussing getting a round in. ‘You got some muggle money out today, didn’t you Hazel?’ Mark said loudly. ‘Your round first, I think. I’ll go get them, though.’ He held out his hand expectantly.

‘Oh! Yes, of course,’ she said. She reached for her bag, and started rifling through the clutter, acutely aware of everyone around her waiting as she pulled out an empty water bottle and a crumpled file, trying to push aside tampons without anyone seeing, realising with amazement that she had found the hairbrush she had lost weeks ago.

‘I got some out too,’ said one of Mark's colleagues kindly. ‘I'll get the firs-'

‘No, no, don’t worry,’ said Hazel hurriedly. ‘I’ve definitely got some in here, I went at lunch-'

‘Oh, come the fuck on, Hazel,’ he said sourly, still holding out his hand. ‘We're always fucking waiting for you.’

In her peripheral vision she saw Dee and Crispin exchange a dark look, and Mark's colleagues shifted uncomfortably. Hazel dug with more urgency through her bag, ignoring the heat she could feel on her face, until she finally found the two crumpled twenties amongst the old receipts and debris of her bag.

‘Here,’ she said, thrusting it at him, and trying to give him a look that said ‘don’t you dare talk to me like that’. But he did not appear to notice, just thanked her casually and rose.

‘I’m going to need some help,’ he said. ‘Come on, you lot – Hazel and Dee can keep the table.’

So Hazel and Dee were left alone as the rest of the group shuffled to the bar, ready to ferry back drinks and bags of pork scratchings and crisps.

‘Are you all right?’ Dee asked her quietly. ‘He’s always on at you.’

‘Oh, he’s fine,’ she said vaguely, feeling her cheeks warm once more. ‘I think he’s just been having a really bad week, he doesn’t mean it. He’s a nice guy once you-'

‘No, he’s not,’ said Dee bluntly. ‘I’d slap him if he ever spoke to me like that – I don’t know what you see in him. None of us do. No offence.’

‘You don’t see him when we're on our own,’ she emphasised. ‘He can be really sweet-'

‘Ah, I see, it’s just in front of your friends that he treats you like shit,’ said Dee, nodding sagely.

Hazel frowned at her. ‘Don’t – you don’t get it. I think he just feels a bit... insecure. You know he tried to get onto the Auror programme lots of times, so when he’s around you lot he’s just... on edge a bit.’

Deanna did not seem to find this a valid excuse, and merely gave a sniff before fiddling with a soggy beer mat, spinning it on a corner. Hazel swallowed her irritation and desire to argue further, to defend the man who, for all his faults and promptness, genuinely could be sweet and attentive and honestly interested in her work and understanding about her odd hours. He was returning from the bar, shakily carrying several pints and laughing with Crispin (there was another point in his favour! He could be a great host! And so generous! He'd do anything for you!), before setting them on the table and beaming at them both as though nothing had happened.

‘How're we doing, girls?’ he asked cheerfully. ‘A red wine for Hazel, and a pint of Guinness for Deanna – that’s what we like to see, a proper drink.’

Deanna gave a slightly strained smile as she took her drink, but Hazel was pleased that everyone seemed to be in a good mood again. People liked Mark – or at least his colleagues seemed to. He was loud, and funny, and he was good at making sure everyone was having a good time. He certainly had good banter going with his coworkers, and she enjoyed the easy, playful rivalry between the Aurors and the LEP, they joking that the Aurors swooped in after they had done the hard work, Hazel and the others teasing back that all they did was arrest drunk fliers and babysit old Mundungus Fletcher.

The problem happened a few drinks in, when the evening was rowdier and noisier. ‘We do the dirty work,’ Mark said, ‘you lot are just there as a pretty face.’

She would have ignored it. She meant to. She let others around her laugh and would have been content to let it slide and take a sip of her drink instead, but Mark saw something in her face.

‘Oh, here we go,’ he said, and though his voice was loud and heavy with exasperation, his face was amused.

‘What?’ she said coldly.

‘She hates that word,’ he told the group. ‘Pretty.’

She felt stiff, and tense, but of course it was no wonder with every eye on her. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said awkwardly. ‘It’s just a word.’

‘Oh, now you say that,’ he laughed. When she simply glared furiously at him, she shrugged and laughed more. ‘Don’t look like that, I’m only playing around.’

She laughed it off, and ignored Dee's pointed look, but a couple of hours later when she finally got him on his own in the smokers area, she turned to him in a flash of anger. ‘What are you playing at? What was all that about?’

‘What?’ he asked, swallowing a gulp of his pint and setting it on the window ledge. He looked at her in apparent bewilderment. 

‘You know perfectly well what. Bringing up that word in front of everyone-'

‘Oh, give it a rest, Hazel,’ he muttered. ‘It’s just a fucking word. You’re bonkers.’

‘Don’t try and make me look insane,’ she hissed. ‘You did that on purpose-'

‘Yeah, sure I did. Sorry,’ he said, with exaggerated patience.

She was trembling with rage: she felt humiliated, confused, bewildered, but under pinning it all was vast annoyance at him.

‘Why are you like this around my friends?’ she asked. ‘You’re never like this when we're on our own.’

‘What are you on about now?’ he demanded. ‘Just drop it, Hazel-'

‘You’re so nasty to me around other people-'

‘You’re embarrassing yourself,’ he told her. ‘You have been all evening. You don’t talk to anyone, you just sit there and pull faces at perfectly normal words – why do you act like this around my friends?’

'It's not my fault I'm shy-'

‘And why do you trail around after James Potter all the time?’ he burst out of nowhere.

‘What? What's Potter got to do with anything?’ she asked, frowning. ‘Is this what's put you in such a horrible mood?’

‘Why were you so desperate for him to come out tonight?’ he said aggressively. ‘We were all waiting for you while you both had a cosy little chat-'

She swore at him loudly, and tried to walk away, but he seized her arm, and pulled her back. ‘Get off!’ she yelled, drawing the concerned attention from several people standing nearby.

‘You never stop talking about him,’ Mark spat, ‘it's pathetic-'

‘We work together,’ she snarled. ‘We're friends – you’re the one who's pathetic, you-'

‘You know, I never say anything about the simpering fucking looks you give him, I completely turn a blind eye when you laugh at all his stupid jokes – but you can’t let me off using a perfectly normal word now and then? You take me for granted-’

'You're being ridiculous-'

'Am I? Am I? Not many men would put up with you, you know.'

'I'm not listening to this,' she muttered, and she began to walk away.

'Don't bother coming to mine later!' he shouted after her.

She spun on her heel and walked backwards so she could shout back. 'Wasn't planning on it - I'm not planning on seeing the inside of your flat ever again, thanks!'

The anger fuelled her most of the way. She raged with it, her strides heavy and quick against the pavement, blood thundering through her head as she stormed up Whitehall and back to the Ministry.

It was only when she finally paused, alone in the golden elevators, that she suddenly burst into choking tears. She was not sure why she had come back here, rather than going home to her flat. Perhaps, in some way, she was hoping Mark would have walked after her, would have followed her in and would come in with an apology, like usual, and reassurances that he was just lashing out because he was stressed and he didn’t mean any of it and that she was worthy of his love; that he hadn’t bestowed it on her like charity. 

She went straight to her cubicle, and sat there, in a daze. Had they broken up? She had meant to break up with him. Right there in the pub, she had been full of conviction about it. She wished Dee hadn’t been inside, so she could have come with her and vibrantly agreed with her decision, that she could have sworn and cursed Mark’s name and told her that she was well shot of him and she should have done it ages ago. 

But right now, it was all she could do to reach for the most boring paperwork within reach, to lose herself in the mindlessness of it, to try and stop herself thinking what am I going to do without him? Perhaps he is right.  
Perhaps she was too cold and aloof and people found her hard to warm up to and got awkward and embarrassed when she couldn’t bear to hear a word - just a word - without visibly flinching. Perhaps she was still broken, after all these years, perhaps she was still messed up and always would be. The friends she gravitated towards - James, Dee, Crispin - were bold and loud and funny and good at cutting through her coldness to force her to interact. It had been the same at school - she orbited around the loudest people and enjoyed letting them bounce off her, but it was always them that made all the effort, always them to draw her out of her shell. Eventually people got tired. Eventually people gave up. 

That was Mark had done. He had humoured her funny little quirks about words and sat through the embarrassment of her not knowing how to connect with his coworkers, and he had seen how James goaded her into engagement and misconstrued it, perhaps thought that she put the effort in for James specifically, rather than realising that it was simply a matter of her needing someone that persistent, and him needing someone to huff and puff and roll their eyes before eventually giving in and laughing. So Mark had seen her shyness and reservation as something she could turn on and off for certain individuals - had perhaps thought that she did it deliberately. 

Maybe she had been the one at fault here. Maybe she should try harder with his coworkers. Surely she could have thought of something to say. Maybe she should have been quicker about going to him - she was meant to be excited, wasn’t she? About going out with her boyfriend? Instead she had lingered and tried to persuade another man to come out with them. No wonder he had been annoyed. 

And the word. The word the word the word. She had to get over it. He was right, it was a stupid issue she had. Bizarre. No one else had ridiculous things like that. 

She would have to apologise to him, she realised. Because he was one of the few who saw her for what she was, who really understood her and all her flaws, and knew all her odd little hangups like that. She had been stupid to tell him about it, because it had revealed her as overly sensitive, and now he had to walk on eggshells around her. He was right. He was unusually patient. It was amazing it had lasted this long at all. 

‘Oh, hello,’ came a bright voice. She jumped, glancing quickly over her shoulder to see James striding swiftly in. She wiped the tears off her face as quickly as possible. 

‘Hi,’ she said, irritated that her voice sounded so scratchy. She tried to brush it off by turning back to her desk and opening up a folder full of extradition request forms.

‘I thought you were out at drinks?’ he asked. He sounded concerned. She swallowed down her embarrassment. 

‘I… I changed my mind,’ she said, as he threw himself into his char. James hated Mark. He, Dee and Crispin all did, though Crispin at least tried to be friendly. James would probably, like Dee, be an excellent source of verbal abuse directed at Mark, but for some reason she couldn’t stand the thought of him knowing about what had happened. What Mark had said to her. 

‘Oh,’ he said awkwardly. Here she went again. Making people feel uncomfortable. 

‘How was your date?’ she asked, hoping he would talk about himself and she could just nod and listen and forget about Mark’s furiously red face shouting at her. 

‘Well, you know how first dates are - bit awkward. We’ll see how it goes,’ he said, with a shrug and a bit of a lopsided grin. 

She nodded, for she did indeed know the awkwardness of first dates and the desperation to find something to talk about. She remembered her first date with Mark, and how he had finally gave a nervous chuckle and said, ‘you don’t say much, do you?’ She sniffed to stop herself from breaking down again. ‘Was she nice, though?’

‘Yeah,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Pretty.’

She swallowed, but tried very hard to keep her face still, to not let it betray the sudden rage and agony that was burning through her heart - far worse than when she normally heard that word. ‘Good,’ she said, though her voice sounded strange, as though her throat was closed. ‘What’re you doing back then?’

‘Erm…’ he said, sheepishly. ‘I accidentally put this file in my bag and thought I should bring it back rather than lose it in my flat.’ From his bag, he pulled out a manilla file and shoved it in his drawer. Her lips twitched, almost into a smile, before she remembered the accusations Mark had thrown at her, and she sunk back into misery. 

‘Has something happened?’ he asked suddenly. She looked up, and saw that he was studying her intently, his brow furrowed, his eyes blazing.

_I’m a neurotic, practically unlovable mess and Mark accused me of fancying you because you’re one of the few people that hasn’t run out of patience yet._

His eyes were almost hurting her with the intensity of their gaze. She sniffed again, and looked away before he reduced her to tears. ‘Just had a crap night,’ she said. ‘Thought I’d come in and… do some paperwork.’

He didn’t say anything for a long time, but then when he did, he broke her heart. 

‘You deserve better than Mark Whittaker, you know.’

She sighed heavily and leaned back in her chair, rubbing her eyes. ‘Oh… Potter, don’t say that.’

‘Why not? You do. He’s a prick.’ She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes so that her vision popped with soft purple smudges, then, in the same deep, quiet, stupid voice she had heard him use earlier, she heard him say, ‘babe.’ 

She almost laughed. It was so like James to childishly mock the way Mark had summoned her earlier. Dee always had plenty to say on Mark. She used words like gaslight. Abuse. Manipulative. Sociopath. Words that made Hazel feel like a fucking idiot for sticking with him, words she felt she couldn’t argue with, because of course none of it was true, of course Dee was just exaggerating, or getting the wrong end of the stick or only seeing the thin end of the wedge. But obviously the more she argued, the more it sounded like Dee was right and the more it felt like everyone just saw her as some helpless victim who put up with abuse for no reason. 

But James? He turned Mark into a caricature that she wanted to laugh at. That was why, she realised, she liked it when he was around. He put things in perspective - made Mark’s behaviour silly and ridiculous and worth laughing at, rather than some dramatic, traumatic, terrible, unsalvageable thing.

‘It was just a stupid argument,’ she said patiently, removing her hands from her eyes and looking ahead at the map pinned to their cubicle wall. ‘It doesn’t matter. We both just need to cool off.’

‘What was it about?’ 

She shook her head, taking a deep breath. Somehow the thought of the bark of laughter he would do when she said ‘Mark thinks I’m secretly in love with you or something, I guess,’ felt horrible. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘Come on - tell me about your hot date.’

‘She has a nose piercing. And she’s been on a Grand Tour for years in South America.’

 _Oh, bloody hell, one of those types._ An unattractive snort of laughter escaped from her. ‘Good grief.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’ he spluttered, looking rather affronted.

‘Nothing, sorry,’ she said, trying to hold back her laughter. James might reckon he could cope with a free spirit “wanderlust” type of girl, but not far beneath that front of being someone who wanted a bit of edge and adventure, she knew James. She knew he wanted someone to slot right in with his family and have a bunch of kids with him and fill his days with Sunday lunches and five-a-side Quidditch and all that basic, charming, middle class stuff. He could insist until he was blue in the face that he was cooler than all that, but the fact remained that he talked about his family a lot, with great fondness. She knew all about his brothers and sister and little Dora and his aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents and the Sunday lunches that he only missed if he had to be at work.

The idea of him dating someone that had been a backpacker for several years didn’t really gel with this - they weren’t usually the type to want to settle down in some rural corner of England. She frowned. ‘Did you say Teddy went to school with her?’

‘Yeah.’

‘So she’s… quite a bit older than you?’ she asked cheekily. 

‘Only a little bit. Like…’ he shrugged, and at first she thought she might have offended him, but then he played along. ‘Pfft, thirty… five or something. Forty.’ She laughed, and he grinned his broad, striking grin. ‘Nah, she was in the year below him, I reckon a four or five year age gap’s fine - perhaps I need an older woman anyway.’

‘What, to help you grow up?’ she teased.

‘Guide me through life,’ he agreed. He yawned and stretched. ‘Right, well, I’m going to go and beat up Whittaker for you and head home.’

She rolled her eyes to stop herself from laughing again, imagining Mark’s blustering face if she set her friends on him. ‘You don’t need to beat him up for me-’

‘I know, I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of doing that yourself, my apologies-’ he said grandly, tilting his head towards her. 

‘It was just a little tiff, we’ll be fine by tomorrow,’ she said firmly, giving him an exasperated smile.

‘Suit yourself,’ he shrugged as he rose. ‘I thought we could vandalise his flat together, but if you insist… see you Wednesday, Duarte - don’t be a saddo doing paperwork til the early hours.’

‘Cheers, Potter,’ she said dryly. ‘See you Wednesday - we have a super fun surveillance job scheduled.’

‘Don’t you just love it,’ he called over his shoulder with a wave.

It was like she was marching up the road with righteous anger again. She wasn’t sure if it was James suggesting that Mark deserved to be beaten up, or that he had mocked him for something as inane as his habit of calling her babe, or perhaps it was simply that he had come here, and they had talked like normal friends and he was living proof that she could make friends, that people could like her and enjoy her company - if they were the right kind of people. 

Whatever it was, she knew that she had, for the first time, knowingly lied to James Potter. It was not a little tiff. It would not be all fine by tomorrow. Her time with Mark was firmly over, and she was glad. She deserved someone like James. Not James, obviously, that was ridiculous - but someone who didn’t see her as a nuisance, some awkward, difficult woman to navigate life around. She needed someone who didn’t deign to love her despite her flaws, but someone who didn’t see them as flaws at all. 

James had been right - she couldn’t sit in here and do paperwork until the early hours. She packed up her things, and walked back to the elevators, almost with a spring in her step, feeling far lighter than she had felt in a very long time.


	21. New Year's Eve

It was the quietest they had ever worked together. Both of them had been scheduled down for the overnight shift (she had spent several days worrying about it), and while the skeleton crew expected over the Christmas break was starting to increase back to normal capacity, no one seemed to think that they quite needed to get back to work yet. When Hazel arrived, she paused at the end of the corridor for a while, pretending to look through her pigeonhole as the evening lot filtered in and the day lot left, stealing glances over to the cubicle she shared with James.

He must already be there, because Head Auror Potter was leaning against the entrance, looking in and nodding his head slowly. From this distance, she wouldn’t have been able to see his expression even if he turned and faced her, but eventually he seemed to lazily raise a hand and wandered back in the direction of his office.

She released a breath she didn’t know she had been holding, and made her way to their cubicle, her heart hammering furiously. 

‘Hi,’ she said, as she entered, trying to sound as normal as possible.

He’d been drinking from his coffee cup, and she saw him choke a little on it. His ears flashed red as he put it down. ‘Hello,’ he said, clearly trying to suppress coughs.

At any other time she would have absolutely ripped him a new one for this. There’d have been jokes about his drinking problem for weeks, maybe months. She’d have mockingly coughed into her own coffee every single time. But instead she simply went to her desk and began unpacking her bag, pretending she hadn’t noticed.

‘How was Portugal?’ he asked, still rather choked sounding.

‘Lovely, thank you. The whole family was there, but we all squeezed in somehow. How was your Christmas?’

‘Nice, cheers.’

‘Good.’

‘Yeah.’

People kept walking past their cube, their footsteps plodding on the creaky floor, barely muffled by the thin carpet. She chewed on her lip, then placed some parchment in her typewriter.

‘Erm… I think everyone’s just hanging out in the break room today,’ said James, scratching the bridge of his nose so she couldn’t really see his face.

‘Oh. Well… I have a load of this extradition stuff to work on, so I thought I’d use the quiet time to-’

‘Right, yeah - I’ve got paperwork too,’ he said.

So they worked, and there was utter silence except for the clacking of their typewriters and the occasional rustle of files or the scratch of a quill, and, ever present, the sounds of their coworkers heading lazily back and forth between the break room and their own desks, laughing and chatting loudly or singing or whistling or yawning dramatically or swearing up and down that they were going to do dry January.

The hours went by horribly slowly. She kept feeling like she was being watched, feeling like his eyes were on her, but every time she glanced over he was hard at work, utter concentration on his serious face, as though she weren’t there at all. He was the very picture of everything she’d always wished him to be nagged him to be, scolded him when he wasn’t. She hated it.

She looked at the magical calendar on her wall, which filled with meetings and appointments whenever Susan or one of the other secretaries arranged them. Given the time of the year, it was utterly empty, except for one looming meeting.

_10 Jan, Appraisal, Head office, 10am. Present: Jnr Auror Hazel Duarte, Deputy Head Auror Theia Hodges, Head Auror Harry Potter._

She kept staring at it, as though it would change, though it hadn’t since it had appeared nearly two months ago.

She was pinning so much on it, she had prepared so much for it, had firmly ignored her imposter syndrome to prove to herself that she deserved it and had worked hard for it and could do it, because Auror Hodges had hinted so heavily at what it could mean and she yearned for it.

And now? It felt as though it had been snatched away from her. Where there had been horrible but excited nerves before, there was only utter dread. A sickly feeling. She still wanted it. Very much.

She could feel James’s eyes on her again. If she turned, he would look away, so she only stared at her typewriter, and tried to convince herself to say, ‘look, about what happened…’

And then what?

_It would be really silly for us to do it again, to get involved. It could cause us both massive problems at work, not to mention I think we work really well together not just as coworkers but as friends, and if it didn’t work out perhaps that would all be ruined. It’s a massive gamble to take based on one really fun night._

Or perhaps…

_I think I love you. It’s agony. Please say you love me back, and I’m not just someone else you date for a couple of months and then break it off with._

Or maybe even…

_Come with me to the records room, no one will go in there today and we could lock the door. I want you to do that thing I haven’t been able to stop thinking about because I have never felt anything like it in my life._

But the worst question she wanted to ask was…

_What did your dad say to you? Is he going to cancel my appraisal? Have I ruined everything? Should I feel obliged to date you now? Because if that’s the case, fuck you, fuck you all, how dare you? Except please don’t tell me he said that, because oh god I want to, even if it’s a stupid decision…_

James cleared his throat slightly, and she looked over with an odd sense of hope. ‘Have you got the Turrill witness statements?’ he asked.

‘Sure,’ she said, surprised to find herself a little breathless. She rifled through her filing cabinet until she found them, and then awkwardly wheeled her chair closer to him to hand the over. ‘Here.’

‘Cheers.’

They went back to their work, that awful silence, entirely unpunctuated by James’s usual huffs and mutterings to himself and trying to goad her into distraction or loudly yelping ‘got it!’ before lying back in his chair, spinning and spouting some nonsense theory at the ceiling that usually ended up being frighteningly close to the mark.

Just an endless tap tap tap, scratch scratch, rustle, tap tap tap.

Eventually, despite the strange, tense atmosphere, she typed up the last page and realised she had run out of work to distract herself with.

‘Is Auror Potter in?’ she asked. ‘If I could deliver these to be signed now I think that would really help Auror Hodges when she’s back, get a head start on the extradition.’

‘No, he did the standard day shift,’ he said, after a slight pause. He was looking at her very oddly.

‘Oh, and wouldn’t let you have this evening?’ she said, with forced lightness. ‘Wasn’t there a party you’d have rather been at?’

He paused again. ‘I don’t mind celebrating it here,’ he said eventually.

Another awkward silence fell. ‘Well,’ she said loudly, ‘I’ve come prepared.’ She reached into her bag and pulled out a box of raisins, and transfigured the paperweight on her desk into a bowl. ‘If it’s anything like last year, we’ll all have a little party around the wireless, but last year I missed my Portuguese traditions, so-’

‘Hazel,’ he interrupted suddenly, as she poured the raisins into the bowl. ‘What are you doing?’

Her breath hitched, slightly, and she tapped the bottom of the box to get the last of the raisins out. ‘I’m just…’ But it was no use. She knew what he was asking, and it was nothing to do with the shriveled little raisins plopping into the bowl.

‘It’s fine if you don’t want to - I mean I understand,’ he said. She could not look at him. ‘But we can’t really… not acknowledge it.’

She swallowed, and forced herself to look at him. It was very odd to see him without his big stupid grin.

‘Look,’ she said in a low voice, ‘yes, we obviously need to talk, but not here - not in the office-’

‘There’s barely anyone here,’ he pointed out. Indeed, there were only a dozen names on the rota, and no one had walked past their cubicle in at least two hours. ‘And everyone who is here is hanging out in the break room, it’s only us two wasting our last doss day working. You’re avoiding it, you have been this whole time.’

‘You’re a coworker!’ she burst out, cutting to the chase. ‘And more than that, you’re my boss’s son!’

‘Yes,’ he said stiffly. The tips of his ears had gone rather pink. ‘So?’

‘So what we did was entirely unprofessional, and talking about it in the office is only going to-’

‘Right,’ he said, dripping with sarcasm as he nodded at her, ‘yeah, sure - the thing we did outside of work after an evening not in the office was incredibly unprofessional, and we certainly can’t talk about it when we don’t have any coworkers around.’

‘It started as a work event,’ she reminded him. ‘We got drunk at a work event-’

‘So did literally everyone else, including that boss you’re so terrified of-’

‘Who saw me, hungover, creeping out of his house the next morning!’ she squeaked. ‘So now he knows I get drunk and do stupid, impulsive things-’

He winced. ‘We weren’t that drunk,’ he said. ‘We weren’t Crispin levels, were we? We got ourselves back. We ate. You weren’t so drunk that you couldn’t hop up onto the counter without falling off.’

‘Ssh!’ Though no one was around, him describing it out loud felt alarming.

‘You seemed happy at the time,’ he continued, his voice slightly hoarse. ‘Afterwards, you seemed happy. Did I get that wrong?’

‘No, it’s not that - it’s not about that-’ She glanced over her shoulder at the entrance to the cubicle, to check all was clear. ‘You should have warned me,’ she hissed. ‘You should have warned me that it was your parents' house, that it wasn’t just your place!’

He stared at her for a moment; she had never seen him look so exasperated with her. ‘You thought I lived in that big house all on my own?’ he said pointedly. ‘You thought I was the type to have a fully stocked pantry and a wine rack full of bottles I could browse by country?’

‘I don’t know, I was drunk and you’re a rich kid,’ she snapped, feeling her face burn.

‘I earn the same as you!’ he spluttered. ‘I know it’s nice to imagine I’m spoilt beyond belief, but you can’t swing that against me, I didn’t mislead you, I didn’t tell you no one was in - you must have heard me doing the silencing charm-’

‘That could have been for housemates!’

‘Well… it was, kind of…’ he said awkwardly. ‘The housemates just… happen to be my mum and dad…’

‘Bloody hell,’ she muttered quietly, and they looked away from one another in silence for a few minutes. At least he remembered a silencing charm, she thought with horrified relief.

‘Look,’ she said quietly. ‘I panicked… in the morning. I’m really sorry that I lashed out. I shouldn’t have called you immature.’

His face was unreadable, but his ears were redder than ever, and so, now, was the skin beneath his brown freckles. ‘No, it’s all right,’ he muttered. ‘I keeping falling… into... the same mistakes.’ It sounded as though each word required considerable effort, and it caused a painful dropping sensation in her stomach.

‘No - I - I’m just saying, I don’t think that, I was just-’

‘You don’t need to…’ he said suddenly, his voice hesitant and stiff, ‘...worry. My parents didn’t say anything, I only found out they saw you on Boxing Day, and my dad isn’t the type to let something like-’

‘Don’t,’ she said sharply. ‘I don’t want to think about the fact he knows-’

‘You don’t have to, it’s not going to impact on your career or anything, he’s not that much of a twat-’

‘How can you know that? How can you know it won’t?’ she demanded, feeling rather frantic now.

‘I just knew that’s what you’d have been having a meltdown about for the last couple of weeks,’ he said flippantly. ‘Isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ said admitted tersely.

‘Yeah, well, he promised me it will only influence about half of your appraisal and he’d only tell the senior leadership team and some blokes down the pub about it, so-’

‘Oh shut up-’

‘I’m just saying, if you - if you still want to just forget it, fine, that’s fine,’ he said quickly, and his face was burning red too now, his eyes looking anywhere but her. ‘I’m just letting you know you don’t need to - to agonise over it or anything, it’s not going to be a problem, you’re free to just forget it, if that’s what you want, and nobody will ever talk about it again, no one else knows and both my parents are good at keeping secrets and just getting on with things so I s’pose I can be too, so you don’t need to worry, all right?’

She could not bear to hear him say these things, so she looked away, staring at the gleaming keys of the typewriter on his desk as he spoke. He fell into silence, and neither of them could look at one another. His words stung at her as she absorbed them.

‘Dee knows,’ she said, very quietly.

‘What?’ he said slowly, and she risked a glance to see that he had had his head in his hands, and was now slowly raising it to look at her with bewilderment.

‘I told Dee.’

‘When?’ he asked, his voice trembling with forced patience. ‘In fact, that doesn’t matter - why? Why would you tell her that?’

‘Well, I had to tell someone-’

‘Why?’ he exclaimed, suddenly rather high pitched. ‘Why do girls feel like they have to tell people stuff? Why can’t you bury it deep down inside you and only think about it while you’re trying to sleep like a normal person? Fuck, Crispin will know now as well, won’t he?’

‘I needed to talk about it,’ she said irritably, ‘I needed to talk to someone I trusted-’

‘Me! You could have talked to me!’ he growled. ‘Seeing as I was involved - didn’t it occur to you to write or anything?’

‘You didn’t write either,’ she said weakly.

‘You were the one who said you wanted to forget it! I was doing what I thought you wanted!’

They stared at one another, James’s hoarse words hanging between them. His eyes were fixed on her with that blazing sort of look, and though neither of them were out of breath, the deep rise and fall of their chests was in unison.

‘Is it what you want?’ he asked, with strange, broken emphasis. ‘Do you want to forget it?’

‘It can’t be forgotten, can it?’ she said, after a long pause. ‘It happened.’

‘You know what I mean,’ he said hoarsely. His normally ludicrously expressive face was carefully still, his jaw visibly tense, his eyes slightly narrowed.

She swallowed. If anything over the last two weeks had been clear, and not much had been, it was that she couldn’t stop thinking about him at all. Every moment of that night had been obsessed over, examined in detail, thought about relentlessly… no matter how hard she had tried to block it out.

And what was even stranger was that she had yearned for it again. Images of her hands in his dark hair and his eyes blazing at her and his panting breaths and her legs wrapped around him had tormented her endlessly, filled her with desperate longing. She had been able to think of almost nothing else, and her heart ached with it.

He was still staring at her, his face perfectly still, and she tried to steady her own breath. ‘I… I think I-’

His lips parted slightly; he was taking a deep breath too.

She closed her eyes, because they were starting to prickle with tears. ‘If I don’t get a promotion next year, I’ll think it’s because of what we did. The unprofessionalism of it, or… just… I don’t know... But if I do, I’ll be paranoid that everyone only thinks I got it because of… because of who you are.’

‘I told you,’ he said quietly. ‘That’s not - you don’t have to worry about that.’ She opened her eyes, and saw that he was blushing more than ever, his lips pressed together. ‘If… if that’s the only thing that-’

BANG.

They jumped, and spun round to see Crispin clownishly standing in the little doorway of their cube - he had clearly just slapped the wall to make them jump. ‘All right, you two?’ he said, almost tauntingly. ‘Happy new year! What’re we whispering about?’

‘Happy new year,’ James replied cautiously. Hazel could tell that, like herself, he was wondering if Dee had spilled the beans.

‘How was Christmas for you both?’ asked Crispin, leaning against the wall of the cube and folding his arms. ‘Glad to be back at work?’

‘It was fine, thank you, how was yours?’ asked Hazel politely.

‘Oh, you know, once I got over the hangover leftover from the office do, it was quite splendid, really. How were your hangovers?’

Hazel felt as tense as James looked.

‘I recovered well enough,’ said James stiffly. ‘Not before I told my mum what you said about her.’

‘Oh, fuck you, mate,’ said Crispin, though he looked very amused. ‘I bet you’ve blown my chances of becoming your new step-dad now, haven’t you?’

‘They’re dead in the water, I think,’ James agreed.

Crispin hummed in a considered sort of way, and beamed at them both. Hazel wanted to pick up her type writer and launch it at his head.

‘Anyway, are you two coming?’ Crispin said brightly. ‘It’s nearly midnight, we’re all gathering in the bullring.’

‘Oh, yeah - we’ll be right there,’ said James, glancing at his watch.

‘No, no, come on, I’ll escort you both - be your chaperone,’ said Crispin.

James and Hazel exchanged a dark glance, but rose and followed, Hazel grabbing her little bowl of raisins as she went.

‘Who’re you both going to kiss at midnight?’ asked Crispin casually, as they walked through the empty cubicles. 

James looked furious with him, but Hazel had an out. ‘No one - I’m celebrating the Portugese way,’ she said smoothly, and she raised up the little bowl of raisins. ‘One raisin for each chime of the bell.’

‘That’s nice,’ said James quickly. ‘I’ll do the same.’

‘Coward,’ she heard Crispin mutter.

They both pointedly ignored him, but internally Hazel was torn between wanting to give Crispin a good kick in the shins, or perhaps a nasty hex to the solar plexus, but also cursing herself for blabbing to Dee. It was probably an open secret through the whole department now. The damage was probably done.

The coworkers in that evening were already gathered in the open area, the tables pushed aside and a large wireless wheeled in. On the boards usually used to stick up complex relationships between victims, witnesses and suspects or to plan out raids, people had drawn silly pictures and jokey new years resolutions, the tinsel from Christmas still lining the top. One of the tables was laden with butterbeer and bowls of crisps. Auror Cattermole was laughing loudly with Auror Davies, while Auror Pendleton was desperately trying to wrestle a quill off Auror Robson, who had apparently added “no near-manslaughter charges 2027” to Pendleton’s resolution and was laughing uproariously.

‘I’ve requested fireworks from Magical Maintenance,’ said Auror Wright, gesturing casually at the windows. ‘And here we are - special permission from the gaffer - Crispin, lad, make the rounds, would you?’ He nudged an ice bucket holding two bottles of champagne, and Crispin bounded over enthusiastically.

With a wave of Auror Wright’s wand, champagne flutes were floating into their hands. Hazel seized hers just as she heard the pop of the cork and a ‘wahey!’ from her coworkers as the white foam spilled over Crispin’s hands.

‘Get the wireless on!’ Auror Cattermole called. ‘The live broadcast from Diagon-’

‘Nah, not that - the other channel,’ said Auror Bosley. ‘The party from The Fancy Hippogriff in Upper-’

There were general groans of disagreement. ‘Vote on it,’ announced Auror Wright, as Crispin made his way around the little group with the champagne. But there was little need - Auror Bosley was thoroughly outvoted, and Auror Davies set to work tuning the wireless.

‘Careful!’ whispered Crispin gleefully, as the champagne he poured foamed over the top of Hazel’s glass. ‘People make funny decisions on too much champers.’

Both Hazel and James fixed him with almost identical cold stares, but Crispin either did not notice or did not care, for here merely moved on, filling up James’s glass and then heading to crouch in front of the wireless.

They stood in awkward silence with their glasses of champagne, and Hazel wondered if, like she, James was remembering how they had both giggled as they pretended to do wine tasting. A mad thought came to her that she could do that now, that she could take a sip of the champagne and look thoughtful and say, ‘I’m getting… bubbles… and white grapes.’ Then perhaps James would grin and do the same and say something like ‘I’m getting a sense of French superiority when cava and prosecco are exactly the same.’

But all she could think about was how they were in the office, in front of their coworkers, and although Auror Potter wasn’t in, his door was within sight. So she simply cleared her throat a little, put her champagne on the top of the nearest cubicle, and reached for the little bowl of raisins.

‘Eat one for each chime of the bell,’ she told him, counting them out. He automatically held out his hand, and for a moment she might have been on the Knight Bus again, reaching for it to hold her steady. She dropped the raisins one by one into his hand, and resisted the desperate urge to run her hand over his palm. ‘And my family adds that with each one you eat, you make a wish.’

‘Twelve wishes?’ he said, surprised. ‘I can only think of one.’

Their eyes met for a moment. She had the feeling that he had said it without thinking. ‘Well,’ she said quietly, ‘you’ll have to make it into twelve little wishes, or think fast.’

‘Right,’ he said, looking down at his little handful of raisins. ‘OK.’

She took her own raisins from the bowl, and picked up her champagne again. She stood beside him, and they were both staring at the wireless with everyone else, but the noise seemed to swirl around them, without touching them at all, as though they were closed off behind glass. She realised how closely she had stood beside him.

‘Here we go, here we go!’ shouted Crispin, turning up the volume dial on the wireless. They all joined in with Lee Jordan’s voice - ‘ten, nine, eight…’

She looked at James out of the corner of her eye, but he was not counting down with the others. He was still staring down at the little handful of raisins.

‘..Three, two, one- HAPPY NEW YEAR!’

There was a triumphant swell of noise. The fireworks Auror Wright had requested exploded in the windows, their coworkers cheered in comprehensibly, and the wireless echoed with the deep chimes of Big Ben.

The first chime. I wish for… James.  
The second chime. I wish- James  
The third. James. His lips achingly close.  
She tried desperately to think of something else as she furiously chewed and swallowed her raisins, to think about the little list she had mused on the previous day, about her career and family and her own wellbeing-

Four. James. His arm around her in the noise and bright glare of the kebab shop, his chest firm against her face, his heart thudding steadily.  
Five. James’s hands grasping her, his breath shuddering.  
Six. James pressing her against the wall, his lips against hers.  
Seven. James’s eyes flicking up to look at her across her own body as she writhed in pleasure-  
Eight. James. Laughing. Stumbling around on the Knight Bus. Crude drawings on the window fogged with their breath.  
Nine. James moaning her name, muttering swear words under his breath-  
Ten. James standing between her legs as she sat on the counter, so close they were practically embracing, his eyes widening slightly as he looked at her, the pupils pulsing-  
Eleven. James. Lounging in his desk chair and spinning, rambling up his latest theory to the ceiling.  
Twelve. James.  
She took a large gulp of champagne to swallow down the last of the raisins as she heard her coworkers still cheering and calling out ‘happy new year!’ to one another, laughing as they all pecked cheeks or, in the case of closer friends, risked grasping faces and planting exaggerated kisses on the lips. Someone was jokingly shouting, ‘cheeky beggar! I’ll speak to HR about you!’ 

She turned to James, an uncharacteristically impulsive thought encouraging her to say, ‘quick! Happy new year!’ and kiss him, but he had thrust his champagne so clumsily onto the table in front of them that it had spilled, pooling across the surface, running down the grooves of the wood and trickling onto the floor. He was walking swiftly away, and she watched as he plunged himself into the crowd, hugging people and kissing them on the cheeks, a broad smile across his face.

‘Happy new year, Hazel,’ came a cheerful voice, and she started as a hand touched her arm. It was Auror Cattermole.

‘Happy new year, Ellie,’ she blurted out, and they clumsily kissed cheeks.

‘Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?’ bellowed Crispin, his arm slung around James’s shoulder.

‘Should auld acquaintance be forgot…’ people were echoing back, and soon arms were being crossed and hands crossed, and half-remembered lyrics were being belted out as they bounced, everyone out of time and out of tune.

Hazel didn’t know the words at all, nor could she really understand them, but there was a certain bitter-sweetness to the lyrics, a strange sense of sadness. She couldn’t really understand why a song like this was sung at all, nor whether it was to mourn the end of a year or celebrate the start of a new one.

Her eyes met James’s across the room. Come and kiss me, you bloody idiot, she thought. Come and be the one to cut through my fear. Come and point out that I’m just be a coward about it.  
But all he did, with a slight frown, was nod at her and look away. She understood at once. He knew she wanted to be professional, and that’s what would now happen.

She accepted it for roughly three seconds before she felt a flash of anger at his self-pitying martyrdom, and without considering anything else, she reached for his glass that had knocked over, carelessly poured out the dribble of champagne left in it, and started to march towards him.

‘You gonna glass me with that?’ he asked, entirely deadpan, when she reached him.

She rolled her eyes, and leaned past him to grab the cool neck of one of the bottles of champagne, thrusting the glass towards him. ‘Happy new year,’ she said.

‘Happy new year,’ he echoed calmly, taking the glass.

‘You don’t want us to forget,’ she said. ‘No auld lang syne for you.’

Finally, his face cracked into a grin. ‘That’s not what that means.’

‘I don’t care, I don’t know what it means, it’s not proper English, it’s stupid,’ she said irritably. 

He laughed, and for a moment she felt a rush of relief, because it all felt normal again. But then she started to pour champagne into his glass, and when she was no longer looking into his handsome face, she remembered everything.

‘I’m not saying I want to forget either,’ she said, in a very quiet voice, as she poured his champagne. ‘You were right. We weren’t that drunk. We’d be stupid to pretend otherwise.’ She glanced back up at him; he was still frowning, but his brown eyes were blazing like the embers of a fire as he stared at her. ‘There was something there, wasn’t there?’ she challenged.

‘Yes,’ he said, in barely more than a whisper. ‘There was something.’

She gave a short nod. ‘But not yet,’ she said, glaring back. His eyes suddenly flicked down - the champagne had fizzed over the top of his glass again, onto his fingers. She started, and stopped pouring, taking a small step back. He did not move. ‘Please,’ she said, hoping desperately that he would understand, without her having to say so here, surrounded by coworkers.

A twisted sort of smile crossed his face, and he nodded, then took a sip from his over-filled champagne glass. ‘I hope your appraisal goes well,’ he said warmly. ‘I’ll, erm…’ he gave a shrug, and a slight shake of his head. ‘Make sure there’s no outside influence - real or perceived.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. She heard Crispin whooping and laughing somewhere in the background. ‘I’ll threaten Crispin into silence.’

‘Use violent force,’ James said cheerfully, and he moved his glass to clink against hers.


	22. Christmas Pine

‘Bye,’ he said quietly, as he watched her slip out of the door. It closed softly behind her, and he heard her gentle footsteps vanish down the hallway. 

He was left sitting there, feeling hot, clammy and very ill in a way he wasn’t sure was entirely to do with his hangover. 

_‘We can just forget about it.’_

Something inside him was plummeting. He collapsed back onto his pillow, staring up at the ceiling and burying his hand in his hair, thoughts swirling in painfully aching head, the overwhelming joy and disbelief of the previous night crashing into an intense loneliness. 

Perhaps… perhaps he had just been drunk. Perhaps he had once again convinced himself he was in love, had leapt into it without thinking yet again, had set himself up for misery and pining when he didn’t really know-

But he did know her. He knew her very well. He knew her Portugese father had moved the family out of England and back to Portugal when she was nine years old. He knew her Patronus was a Weimaraner. He knew she closed her eyes and breathed slowly out when she was annoyed. He knew she bent her knees slightly and beamed with excited energy when she heard good news, and sometimes when she was particularly pleased she would reach out and grasp whoever was closest, and that this was usually him. He knew that she had three sisters and a brother, plus loads of aunts and uncles and cousins on her Dad’s side. He knew she relished the silly little competitions he goaded her into, even if she rolled her eyes and huffed - she always glowed with satisfaction when she was in the lead. He knew she didn’t like the word pretty, because she couldn’t hide the tense, irritated look that crossed her face when she heard it. He thought he might know why. He knew she thought she needed silence when she was working, but that actually she needed just a little bit of background noise; the clacking of a typewriter or the rustling of papers, or distant chatter. He knew that she spoke fluent English and Portugese and French and she pretended English was her least favourite, but when she muttered to herself or swore when she got a papercut, it was always in English, because that’s how she and her mother spoke to one another, and that was what she mostly spoke for the first nine years of her life. He knew she twirled a strand of hair around her finger when she was bored, and he knew the rhythm of her laugh, the splutters that would slide into silent giggles and then into shrieks of laughter. He knew how she took her tea. He knew when she was trying not to laugh at his jokes.

More than that, she knew him, or seemed to. She knew how he took his coffee. She knew when he wanted to breeze over something and pretend he wasn’t bothered, and when to gently reassure him. She knew his preferred seat in the briefing room, and would save it for him when he was late. She knew when someone had said something he would find annoying or funny, and her eyes would slide automatically to his to exchange a smirk. She knew about some of his most embarrassing moments, and knew to tease him about them only when no one else was around. She knew all about his family - about Dora and his siblings and his horde of cousins and all the things they all did that annoyed him and all the reasons he loved them. She knew about his friends at school and the stupid stuff they’d got up to, and she knew about how he and Dee had shared an extremely awkward first kiss before being too embarrased to look at one another for months after. She knew all his thoughts on all the Quidditch teams, even though she had told him repeatedly that she didn’t care, even though it turned out she herself had quite strong opinions when he said something she disagreed with. She knew how much he despised Azkaban duty, and she knew why it was important to call him Evans there and tell him if his disguise was wearing off or his freckles were showing through - she grasped that better than anyone. She knew the constant push and pull between he and his father over his career, even if she felt too terrified to criticise his dad. She knew to grab him his favourite biscuits from the fancy meeting room if she had an external meeting and he didn’t. She knew he loved dogs, and if they were out and about, sometimes she would nudge him in the elbows, and say ‘dog’, and he would turn and evaluate how good the dog was. The dog was always very good. 

And for a brief few hours last night he had been so deeply, painfully happy. Had he thrown all of it away for the sake of those few hours? Had he really been so stupid to lean forward and kiss her like that? To feel her lips against his, to do something from which they could never come back? 

Could she forget it? Could she go back to grumpy snipes and playful jabs and exchanged glances as though it hadn’t happened? 

He certainly couldn’t. 

He rolled over, and pressed his face into his pillow, pulling the other pillow over his throbbing head. Hazy, flickering images were rushing through that pounding head, of her dark, smokey eyes and her laughter and her proud smile as she knelt before him on this very bed and pulled him towards her, and the breathy gasps of his name, and their foreheads pressed together as they locked closely together-

If he hadn’t just seen her sneaking out, if she hadn’t told him they could forget it, he might have thought it was some weird, drunken dream. 

His heart ached with it. He found himself closing his eyes and screwing up his face, as though he could force the feelings out. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing all that - he could even accept, unhappily, but he could accept, her not loving him back, her not wanting to kiss him again, not wanting to sigh into the night like that with him again, but he could not bear, not even for a second, the idea that everything else might be gone. That she might not be able to look at him again. She had barely done so that morning, and when she had, she had looked tense and flustered - embarrassed. The thought of being with him embarrassed her, most of all after she realised that they were in his parents’ house. 

Because of course, she would be panicking now about his father. Not about his fame, or history, or legend or any of that rot, for she had worked alongside him long enough to see the man behind the myth. But that he was her boss. Was their boss. But especially her - she who had been so nervous to make a good impression, so anxious about her appraisal and her career, so keen to emphasise her professionalism…

He heard the door creak open, and footsteps cross the room, felt the presence of someone standing over him. But he was not sure, in his dull, hungover state, which parent it was, simply heard the quiet thud of ceramic on the wood of his bedside table, and then, after they had left, the smell of bacon reached him. He had not wanted them to know he was awake, had not wanted to look at them and try and work out if they knew he had had someone stay the night, or worse, if they knew who that someone was… 

He dragged the pillow off his head, and rolled over to see the plate with the bacon roll, and beside it, a mug of coffee and a little dark blue bottle of milkthistle potion, the best hangover cure magic could manage. 

He dragged himself up to sit against the metal bars of his headboard, blearily stuffing a pillow behind him for comfort. He rubbed at his eyes before pulling his hand through his hair. He probably looked a state. Hazel had looked so painfully beautiful, even with the make-up around her eyes smudged, her hair seductively tousled as she had pulled the crumpled golden dress back over her olive shoulder… 

He closed his eyes, and swallowed. How was this only hitting him now? He had known she was beautiful. He’d joked with Ted about it, even joked with Crispin on occasion. He’d objectively considered it, when she’d been with Mark and he’d been bewildered as to why she thought she couldn’t do better. He had even teased her about it on occasion, annoyed her by suggesting she could honeytrap suspects, reassured her that Dawlish was just a knobhead because he couldn’t bear the thought of young attractive women being Aurors. His occasional moments of a fluttering in his stomach when she smiled at him, or the lurch when she touched his arm, or when he thought he had been staring into space but then had been brought back to reality with a sharp ‘why are you staring at me?’ from her had never really seemed like indicators of anything, though of course now he felt like a huge fucking idiot for not stringing them together and realising that he was attracted to her. 

He opened his eyes, reached for the bacon roll, and took a large, glum, bite. It tasted of nothing, the bread like a dry sponge in his parched mouth. He felt despair as though a Dementor was lying in the bed next to him. 

It was not merely attraction, he thought. It was not even a deep attachment. 

It was love, but it felt utterly cruel. 

***

His parents said nothing to him, so he could only assume that Hazel had made it out without being spotted. 

‘How’s your head?’ Dad bellowed at him with a grin when he finally made it downstairs in the late afternoon, and he simply winced and glared in response. He spent the rest of the day pretending to listen to the wireless, wrapped in a duvet on the sofa, Mum bringing him a constant train of carb-y food with far less complaint than she usually teased him with, though he was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to bother to wonder why. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about her, running through every tiny clue that there was something more, reliving, with terrible agony, the sheer joy of the night before and how she had laughed, swallowing down his anguish as he remembered her leaving that morning. 

‘Are you still hungover? Did your potion not work?’ Mum finally asked him in the early evening. 

‘No,’ he lied.

She looked at him carefully. ‘How was last night?’ she asked. ‘Did you have a good time?’ 

‘Yeah.’ 

‘Just a heavy night, was it?’ He nodded, and looked away from her. ‘Dad said you went to a Muggle club,’ she prodded. 

‘Yeah, we did.’

‘How was that?’ 

‘Good.’ 

‘Any gossip?’ she asked, and he thought her tone was suspiciously light.

There were several moments of silence. ‘Turns out my mate Cirspin fancies you a bit,’ he said at last. ‘He got really drunk and told me.’ 

‘Ooh, really? That’s good to know. Always nice to have a back up husband,’ she said. ‘Is he attractive?’ 

He sniffed, still staring at the wireless, barely hearing the Quidditch commentary. ‘He’s been going out with Dee behind our backs for a year, so clearly she thinks so.’ 

‘Oh, well, I don’t think I can compete with Dee. I’ll stick with your father.’ 

‘You mad woman,’ he said lazily. ‘Crispin’s a catch.’ He didn’t look at her, but he could feel her eyes on him for several more moments, before she brushed her hand across his hair and walked away. He was quite content to stay on this sofa and wallow in his misery for at least a week, probably more. Perhaps he wouldn’t even dress, perhaps-

‘You’ll want to try and shake your hangover off soon,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘Your sister’s coming this evening, then Albus and Scorpius tomorrow. Lupins are all coming on Christmas Eve.’ 

‘Fuck,’ he muttered. 

The effort to be jolly and conversational as Christmas approached was utterly exhausting. Though neither he nor Dad were on the rota until Boxing Day, they were still technically on call, constantly checking their badges and fumbling with them in their pockets, waiting for them to glow warm while Lily talked at them at a hundred miles per hour about her Healer training, and Scorpius loudly sang carols, complete with interpretative dance moves. 

‘You know what,’ Albus said, watching his boyfriend bellow out an old Celestina Warbeck classic, ‘it’s times like these I gain a deep appreciation for the remarkable talent the original performers of these songs had.’ 

Each time James touched the cold metal of the badge, he hoped, somewhere, that it would glow warm, that they would have to rush back into the office and get to work, because then he and Hazel might have to work together. It would not be awkward, because they would have an emergency to focus on. They would not have time to discuss any of it, they would just have to leap back into how things were. That would be bliss approaching the ecstasy he had experienced on the night of the 18th. 

But of course, he remembered as he fetched himself a pumpkin juice from the cold cupboard and spotted the rota stuck to it, Hazel was exempt from on-call duties as of the 21st, because she was going back to Portugal. She was hundreds, maybe thousands of miles away. She probably wasn’t even as miserable as him, because, as she had so forcefully reminded him, he was the loser still living with his parents. He was the immature one. She was probably nothing but embarrassed. God, he hoped she would still be willing to at least be friends… 

‘Are you all right?’ Albus asked him, the evening of the 22nd, when he was finally off call and could have a Baileys. 

‘Yeah,’ said James brusquely. ‘Are you? Planning to run away at all?’ 

Albus ignored the harsh jibe, which was annoying, because James was usually quite good at goading him into angsty introspection. ‘You’ve been weirdly quiet,’ said Albus. ‘Ever since I got back. Lily accidentally referred to Rowan as Ro-Ro at dinner, and you didn’t even react.’ 

‘Did she? Fuck. That’s horrendous. Where is she? I have to ask her if she’s getting that tattooed.’ 

‘But why didn’t you notice it when she said it?’ Albus persisted. ‘Me and Scorp both did - at once - he kicked me to stop me laughing.’ 

James shrugged. ‘I don’t listen to every inane word that comes out of Lily’s mouth.’

‘Are you still all messed up about Dad’s injuries?’ Albus asked. ‘He seems fine now, not even limping anymore - haven’t you seen a Mind Healer about it?’ 

James tried to ignore him, tried to simply drink and think desperately of something else to say, but Albus continued. 

‘Look, I know it was really traumatic, it was for all of us, but you most of all - but you heard Mum - these things happen, Dad’s a tough old thing, and this is just one of those horrible types of experiences they always tried to shelter us from, but you just have to remember that-’

So James nodded, and hummed, and let his brother impart all the wise bollocks he could parrot from his own experiences with Mind Healers, and pretended that what was causing his misery was the earth-shattering trauma of watching Healers desperately trying to keep his father’s heart beating, rather than the earth-shattering experience of being pathetically in love with someone who he was increasingly convincing himself tolerated him at best. 

His sister tried the next day, while he was sitting on the sofa staring at the Christmas tree. She came up behind him, and flung her arms around his neck, pressing the side of her face against his. ‘Why’re you so sad?’ she asked in a sing-song voice. 

‘I’m not,’ he lied, reaching up and holding onto her arms, his eyes fixed on a golden snitch bauble. 

‘You are. Are you sad about Clara?’ 

He was confused for a moment, before he remembered. ‘Er, yeah, a bit, I suppose,’ he lied. 

She tipped herself, falling clumsily head first over the back of the sofa and flopping down into his lap, wriggling around with no consideration for his comfort until she was looking up at him, and he couldn’t help but smile at her. ‘You have no concept of personal space,’ he said. 

‘You have no concept of Christmas, moping around like this,’ she said. ‘Clara was nice, but she wasn’t right for you.’ 

‘I know she wasn’t,’ he said calmly. 

‘Don’t be sad then.’ 

‘Cheers, Lily. I’m cured.’ 

‘Teddy’s coming round with the baby tomorrow,’ she reminded him. ‘How can you be sad about Clara when Dora and a cute little baby’s around?’ 

‘Very true,’ he said, hoping that would be the end of it. She beamed up at him, and he smiled back, before saying, ‘how’s RoRo?’ 

‘Shut up!’ she squealed, wriggling to get away. 

‘Is he not coming round for Christmas? Are we not going to have RoRo rocking around the Christmas tree?’ 

‘Get off!’ she yelled, lunging to try and roll off the sofa as he held her back and tickled her. 

‘No ho ho ho for RoRo? Lil-lil and RoRo under the mistletoe?’ 

‘SHUT UP, YOU ARSEHOLE-’

That evening, he sat at his desk, and resumed the brooding that Lily had interrupted. It had been a few days now, and he had heard nothing. He thought perhaps he should write, but he had no idea what to say, or how long it would take for his owl to reach Portugal. How could you write a letter saying ‘please love me back, because that would be happiness beyond anything I could comprehend, but if you don’t, please don’t hate me, or transfer teams, or worse, leave the department, or country, please stay in my life because the thought of you not being in it makes everything feel hollow and worthless…’ How could you write that without sounding like a pathetic twat? You couldn’t. Besides which, she just wanted to forget it. She probably didn’t want to hear from him. 

So he just tapped his quill against the parchment and stared at the faint, ghostly reflection of his own miserable face in the dark window, until he couldn’t stand it anymore, and he crawled into bed, where he flitted in and out of sleep in a twilit confusion of half-fantasies, half memories, wishing that she lay beside him. 

Andromeda, Teddy, Vic, Dora and tiny Céleste turned up on Christmas Eve, and finally James felt genuine happiness. His newest niece was barely three months old, all huge blue eyes, wispy, soft golden hair, and grasping hands that clung tightly to every finger that reached to tickle her tummy. Dora trailed after him relentlessly, holding his hand and begging him to play endless games of chasing her round the house or ‘guess who I’m morphing as’ or ‘let’s creep up on Grandad and scare him’. Dad did a good job of pretending not to notice and then reacting with exaggerated fright when Dora jumped out with a ‘boo!’, and James also found it easier to get into the spirit of things, to not endlessly think about Hazel and how extraordinary she was. 

‘You’re being a life saver, keeping her distracted,’ said Ted, as James breathlessly leant against the bannister and watched his niece running up the stairs, shrieking madly. 

‘She’s bonkers,’ James muttered, shaking his head. ‘Where does the energy come from?’ 

‘Directly from my own exhaustion,’ Teddy replied, and he handed James a drink. ‘Are you all right? Ginny said you’d been a bit down.’ 

‘Mum should stop gossiping,’ James said, and he took a grateful gulp of the beer, listening to the thumps and rattles of Dora jumping around upstairs. 

‘She wasn’t gossiping-’

‘She was talking about me when I’m not there to someone other than Dad, that’s gossiping-’

‘You had a face like a slapped arse when I got here, what’s got you in such a bad mood?’ 

There was a particularly loud thump, and a silence. ‘Dora?’ Teddy called sharply, frowning. ‘You all right? Dora?’ 

There was more silence, and James and Teddy looked at each other, ready to pelt up the stairs in a panic, before a little voice called, ‘fine!’ 

‘Is anything broken?’ 

‘Erm…’

Teddy sighed, thrust his own bottle of beer at James, and hurried up the stairs. ‘Oh, Merlin, Dora, how did you even-?’ 

‘It wasn’t me, it was the cat.’ 

James sniggered, and took the beers through to the kitchen, where his parents were sitting with Andromeda at the table, picking over cheese and grapes and pouring out wine, Mum bouncing baby Celeste on her lap. From the door on the other side that led to the living room, James could hear Vic, Al, Scorpius and Lily all singing along badly to the wireless. 

Choosing the more civilised kitchen, James took a seat beside his mother so he could fuss over the baby, but his brief glare caught Mum’s attention. 

‘What? What’s that look for?’ 

‘What’ve you been telling Teddy I’ve been looking down for?’ 

‘You have been down,’ said Dad. 

‘You lot don’t need to go round telling everyone about it.’ 

‘What have you been down for, sweetheart?’ asked Andromeda. ‘What’s wrong?’ 

‘Nothing! I just don’t walk around with a permanent smile on my face like a lunatic, so Mum and Dad want to cart me off to St Mungos to see a Mind Healer-’ 

‘We’re allowed to worry about you, we’re your parents,’ said Mum, the baby cooing in her lap. ‘You didn’t even want to help me with my paper chains-’

‘Oh, well, I must be depressed then,’ said James sarcastically. He reached forward and grabbed an entire bunch of grapes.

‘It’s Christmas,’ Dad said bracingly. ‘You’ve got your family around you-’

‘I know, I know, God,’ James mumbled through a mouthful of grapes, rolling his eyes. ‘You’ve made your point, I’m very lucky, we’re all together, yeah, yeah… are we not going to the Burrow at all this year?’ 

‘No, Nana and Grandad are spending Christmas in Romania this year, I told you that,’ said Mum. ‘You just have the joy of our company.’ 

Little thumping feet announced the arrival of Dora running back into the room, followed by Teddy. 

‘Ginny… Harry… that lamp in the corner of the landing…’

‘Hated it anyway,’ said Dad smoothly. ‘Hey!’ Dora was clambering up onto his lap, and he was grinning broadly at her. ‘You been having fun?’ 

‘Daddy told me off,’ she said sourly, pouting as those around the table chuckled and Teddy raised his eyebrows at her. 

‘Never mind, Dora,’ said James. ‘Look at this.’ He seized the large triangle of brie on the wooden board in front of him and stuffed the entire thing in his mouth. Though the adults spluttered in reproachful outrage and disgust, Dora squealed with laughter.

Though this provided a suitable distraction and all attention was once again focused on the Lupin children, it had highlighted to James rather brutally that his parents were keeping an eye on him, and that one (or both) of them had probably sent Ted to try and figure it out. Perhaps they had even sent Al and Lily over the last few days too. 

As the night drew in and he watched Vic and Dora set out mince pies and firewhiskey for Father Christmas, he realised that he couldn’t tell his parents, or anyone else in his family, even if he wanted to. To do so would betray Hazel, who would be so deeply horrified if she thought her boss knew what had happened. 

He usually got pretty drunk on Christmas Eve, staying up playing cards with his mum or badgering his Dad for a war story, which he would then relentlessly interrupt and tell him was boring. But this evening, he found himself staring into the glass of red wine his brother had handed to him, wondering if he could guess what notes and flavours it had in, and whether or not it had legs, trying to ignore the fact that the tinsel running along the mantlepiece was golden, like the tinsel Hazel had used to adorn her shining hair. 

‘I’m going to bed,’ he said abruptly. 

They all looked at him. ‘It’s only just gone nine!’ exclaimed Lily. ‘I thought we were all going to listen to-’

‘Yeah, I’m - not feeling well,’ James said brusquely. ‘See you all tomorrow. Merry Christmas.’ 

And he rose and left before any of them could argue. 

***

‘Daddy, look!’ squealed Dora, brandishing her gift. ‘From Uncle Jim!’ She blew hard on the harmonica that James had bought her. 

‘Oh, wow,’ said Teddy loudly, above the grating sound. He looked at James with a slightly dead look in his eyes. ‘Wasn’t that nice of Uncle Jim when we have a new baby in the house?’ he said pointedly. 

James grinned evilly back. ‘I thought you’d like it - it’s a classic. A vintage toy. Uncle George gave it to me.’ 

‘Oh, Christ,’ said Dad at once, and he leaned across Teddy and smoothly plucked the harmonica out of Dora’s hands.

‘Hey!’ she shouted, but the tone of her voice sounded as though it were coming through a harmonia. She giggled, a strange, shrieking, harmonica-like giggle, and turned to Vic. ‘Mummy, listen to my voice,’ she said oddly, the words vibrating in a grating, unpleasant pitch. 

Teddy spun to glare at James. ‘What did I do to you to deserve this?’ 

James shrugged. ‘It only lasts an hour, calm down.’ 

‘JAMES!’ 

The living room was a sea of gifts and torn wrapping paper, everyone in their best pyjamas (Lily had even done her hair and make up, no doubt remembering the fact that Dad always took loads of photos when they weren’t looking, a subject of great annoyance over many years), with glasses of bucks fizz to sip between gifts. 

The Father Christmas presents for Dora and the baby were done, the labelled gifts under the tree were almost all handed out, and James’s face ached from forcing a smile. It wasn’t that he disliked any of his gifts or was ungrateful, it was simply that there was something very cold in his chest. It all felt rather surreal, like it was bizarre to be going through this happy ritual when he felt so miserable. 

‘Right, Harry’s got the bin bag for all the wrapping paper,’ called Mum, with a mischievous grin. ‘Everyone chuck it in the bag-’

‘In the bag - in the bag!’ shouted Dad, as everyone in the room immediately threw balled up wrapping paper at his face. 

‘Ten points to Al!’ Mum shouted, following up with devastating accuracy herself. ‘Go on, Dora!’ 

James seized wrapping paper too, armfuls of it off the floor, but rather than aim at his father’s face, he leaned over the coffee table and tossed it into the bag. Dad caught his eye, frowning, and James turned away quickly, before he could do his stupid, unfair, creepy legilimency thing. 

While the turkey (and Lily’s nut roast) was cooking, they were corralled into the kitchen where they pulled on coats and gloves and thick scarves, Dad with his head in the cupboard under the stairs, chucking out various differently sized wellies for them all to try and match. 

Teddy was strapping little Céleste to his front in a carrier, but James sidled over. ‘Can I take her?’ he asked. 

‘You sure? She gets surprisingly heavy after a while.’ 

‘I know the walk Dad’s planning, it’s insanely muddy, you’ll definitely fall over.’ 

‘Go on then.’ 

As well as genuinely wanting to carry his niece, having responsibility for Céleste meant that James was excused from having to run around with Dora and go through the exhaustion of being happy for her. He was able to traipse along with his family without it seeming strange that he wasn’t leaping onto the rope swing or walking along the top of the dry stone wall like usual. Instead, he could look down at the top of Céleste’s soft, golden head, feel her dribbling onto his jumper, stay quiet and separate as he thought about Hazel. 

He wondered what she was doing with her family this Christmas. Whether they had their own little family or Portuguese traditions. He had slipped into his father’s study a few days prior, hoping to look up information on the Douro Valley, for what he wasn’t sure, but had found no books on Portugal at all. He thought maybe he just wanted to see pictures of it, or read descriptions, so he could better imagine her there, rather than here in this rather grey, hilly landscape of rural Devon. 

Because he could imagine her here, it was as though she had a ghost walking alongside him. She could imagine her laughing as she clambered over the gate with them, sliding in the mud, wrapped up in a woolly hat and scarf, probably unable to get a word in edgeways with Lily and Scorpius both here, and in this overcast landscape, the light mist of rain would make little droplets of water rest in her hair...

It was a very mild winter that year; the ground was far from frozen or snowy, and in places they heard little shrieks and turned to see one of their party had sunk up to their knee in a patch of slippery mud. He tried to watch them, to summon amusement rather than continue to dwell in his sad little fantasy. 

‘He’s going to fall over,’ James said quietly to Vic, who was walking alongside him. ‘Your idiot husband.’ 

‘I know,’ she said, her eyes on him ahead. ‘Thanks for taking Cél - ah.’ 

Ted had gone head over heels into a ditch to a roar of laughter from Al, Scorpius and Lily. James grinned as he watched his chuckling father pull him up, while Dora shouted gleefully, trying to offer her own tiny hand as her father scrambled out. 

‘Are you all right?’ Vic asked quietly, while James chuckled. 

James did not take his eyes off the scene, though he sighed irritably. ‘Everyone’s asking me that - who put you up to it? Mum or Dad?’ 

‘No one,’ she said, and he turned to see her look genuinely surprised. ‘You just don’t seem yourself.’ 

‘I’m not feeling well,’ he said. ‘Might be deadly. You glad I’m carrying your daughter?’ 

‘Don’t be like that, I was just asking,’ she said sniffily. 

‘Hmm.’ 

They walked along in silence for a few moments, their boots squelching on the soft ground, the baby grizzling. James finally wrestled up the question that had been dancing around on his tongue. ‘Did you… ever worry that you and Ted were too close? That it’d be too messy?’ 

‘Oh my God, please don’t tell me you fancy a cousin,’ Vic said immediately. 

‘Wha- no!’ He looked at her, aghast. ‘I didn’t mean it like that, you two are the weirdos.’ 

‘What d’you mean, then?’ she asked. 

‘Nothing. Forget I asked.’ 

‘Oh, go on, don’t be a tosser - or I’ll just assume you fancy my sister-’ 

‘I don’t fancy anyone in the family, don’t be insane. I didn’t mean anything like that.’

‘Well spit it out, then - what new drama has entered your love life?’ 

This irritated him beyond belief, a fresh new bout of humiliation, a rapid montage of every girl he’d pathetically talked about or brought to the Burrow, convinced this time was different, rushing through his mind. ‘Nothing. It’s not like that,’ he muttered. ‘I didn’t mean anything like that.’

‘Is this about that girl you split with back when Uncle Harry was in hospital?’ she asked, more gently. ‘Because… we all knew you were really cut up around then, but we thought that was because of-’

‘Yeah,’ he said quickly, seizing on the excuse. ‘Yeah, I’m just… sorry, it’s stupid. Nevermind.’ 

‘And it’s… messy?’ she asked, confused. ‘You split up, what, must have been three months ago-’ she gasped, as though realising something. ‘If it’s about her being friends with Ted-’

‘Yeah - has it made it awkward?’ he asked swiftly. As she reassured him and talked relentlessly about Ted and his many friends and how she’d heard Clara was running off to South East Asia anyway, James hummed and nodded and feigned relief, his thoughts so far away from what she was saying that it was like the difference between a Devon hilltop and a greasy kebab shop. 

***

It was just James and Dad in the office for Boxing Day. ‘Count yourself lucky,’ Dad had said sagely the night before, ‘you were down for loads of days over the break before I quietly swapped a few things around. And at least it’s not Christmas day.’ 

The office was creepy when it was this empty. Dark and cold and silent, the Christmas decorations left up looked tacky and depressing without the bustle of people around them, the desks all neat and clear, their footsteps thudding along loudly. 

‘You can come and sit in my office, if you want,’ Dad said cheerfully. ‘Sprawl yourself across the sofa with a book.’ 

‘Nah, I’ve got work,’ James mumbled. 

Dad looked at him, eyebrows raised. ‘No, you don’t, I know everything that goes on in this office, there’s nothing you need to be doing on Boxing Day.’ 

‘Just thought I’d look through some old cases,’ he muttered. 

‘James-’ 

‘I’ll see you later, Dad,’ he snapped. He turned, down his row and heading for his cubicle. He could feel his father’s eyes on his back. 

He found the most boring cold cases he could possibly get his hands on, dating back years, full of dead ends and dead witnesses. Through each one, he leafed through mindlessly, hoping that his utter misery would somehow help him pluck some hitherto unknown clue from the endless pages of testimonies, bank statements, photos, morgue reports, timelines… 

The hours dragged past. As it was mid-winter and most people were on their break, the Magical Maintenance crew had left the windows to reflect whatever weather was outside, and when the days were as short and grey and dull as this the light was not enough to properly flood the cubicles. James’s desk lamp was an odd little spot of yellow, the rustle of his parchment and occasional clack of his keys the only sound. 

A memo arrived from his father around lunch, hitting him sharply in the side of his head and asking him when he was planning on eating. 

Already eaten, sorry, James wrote back, though the turkey, pigs in blankets, stuffing and cranberry sauce sandwich Mum had made him was still sitting in a box on the end of his desk. 

Another hour passed, before he felt, rather than heard, his father’s presence. Dad always managed to sneak up silently like that. Drove Mum mad. He dragged his eyes slowly up to see him frowning in the doorway, but uttered no greeting. 

‘What’s going on, James?’ Dad asked eventually, shaking his head slightly at him. 

‘Nothing, I’m sick of everyone-’

‘What’s going on with Hazel Duarte?’

James stared at him for a few moments, his lips moving soundlessly as he struggled to articulate his horror. ‘What - nothing - I-’

‘Your mum and I saw her, in the morning,’ Dad said. ‘She saw us too.’ 

‘Well why didn’t you say anything?’ James burst out. He could feel his ears burning hot. 

‘We didn’t think it was our business, we didn’t want to be awkward about it-’

‘This is awkward!’ 

‘Well, yes, it is, now, because you’ve been spending days moping about it and I’ve had to come out and say something,’ Dad said. He was blushing a bit too. James very much wanted him to leave, but he walked in and took Hazel’s seat, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and looking at James with utter concern. 

‘Don’t do your stupid legilimency thing,’ James snarled. 

‘Believe me, I know when not to do that, I absolutely don’t want to do that,’ Dad said patiently. He waited, but James was as stubborn as he was and would rather sit in terrible, awkward silence, so eventually Dad spoke again. ‘Mum and I thought, at first, that maybe you were just a bit embarrassed, a bit hungover-’

‘I was. I am,’ said James quickly. 

‘-But this has gone on too long for it to be that,’ said Dad sternly. ‘So… what’s going on?’ 

‘I think it’s obvious,’ muttered James, sourly. ‘Isn’t it? You both saw Hazel leaving, I’m sure you can put two and two together.’ 

‘All right,’ said Dad slowly, ‘so, what, you’re… nervous about coming back to work? Worried it will be awkward?’ 

‘Yeah, sure, that,’ said James impatiently. ‘Can you drop it now?’ 

‘Have the pair of you been having a secret office relationship?’ Dad asked. His tone was sharper now. ‘Because I’ve told you before-’

‘No,’ said James loudly. ‘It was a brand new thing thanks to too many shots in Soho. Can you just - just stop? Please?’ 

‘We’re all worried about you - please don’t be like Al, just tell me what’s-’

‘It’s none of your business-’

‘It is - you’re my son and both of you are my employees. Do you have anything to declare?’ 

‘Nope, nothing, she just wants to forget it,’ James snapped at last. ‘Are you happy now?’ he asked aggressively, as Dad finally fell silent. 

‘James-’

‘Please just leave it, I don’t want to talk about it. You know now, don’t you? So you can stop sending Ted and Al and Lily to come and wheedle it out of me.’ 

‘I didn’t ask them to speak to you,’ Dad said gently. ‘James, I’m sorry.’ 

‘Don’t be, it’s just another stupid thing I’ve done. It’s the same thing every time, isn’t it? I never learn.’ He ran his hands through his hair, and sighed heavily. ‘Don’t…’ he swallowed, and looked at Dad pleadingly. ‘Hazel will be really worried about this, she’s terrified of you and she was so nervous about-’

‘It won’t affect her appraisal,’ Dad said calmly.

‘Seriously, Dad, not even a little bit-’

‘Of course it won’t. It’s essentially already decided anyway.’ He looked hesitant, and then said, ‘I could put you on separate desks if that would-’

‘No!’ His call was so loud that Dad actually recoiled. ‘No, don’t - don’t separate us or anything, it really doesn’t matter. It’ll be awkward for a bit, but then I’ll - I’ll get over it - don’t split us up-’

‘OK.’ 

‘There’s really no need, we work really well together, and we still will, I’m not going to let this-’

‘James, it’s fine, I believe you.’ 

He was glad, because his voice was embarrassingly starting to go hoarse, and now he could look away, gaze down at the files scattered across his desk. ‘I’ll be fine, just… let me sulk a bit,’ he said. 

‘You in love with her?’ Dad asked quietly. James’s silence was answer enough. 

‘But she said she wants to forget it?’ 

‘Yeah. Dunno. Maybe she was just…’ But he closed his eyes, and thought about how she had left, and how he hadn’t heard from her since, and felt cold. 

Dad sighed. ‘Remember everything I’ve ever told you lot about Severus Snape?’ James looked at him; he was rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses. ‘About how… heroic he was because of all the brave stuff he did, because he never stopped loving my mother?’ 

‘Yeah…’ said James slowly. 

‘Right, well I want you to forget about all that for now, because to be quite honest, James, he was an absolute-’

He used a word that Mum would have been livid about if she’d heard, and James blinked in uncomfortable shock. 

‘I mean, really - I still think all that stuff was… the bravest stuff I’ve ever - I still think he deserves remembering, I still want to honour him - without him a lot of people wouldn’t be here and all that, but he was a completely bitter, nasty man. He could be really horrible. Really spiteful. Vicious to his students. When it comes to unrequited love, it can end up making people really-’

‘I can’t just turn it off,’ said James abruptly. ‘It doesn’t mean I’m going to go round being nasty to kids or anything.’ 

‘That’s not what I’m saying,’ said Dad, and James could tell he was trying hard to be patient. ‘I’m trying to say… don’t… keep love as a deep dark secret. It either needs to be embraced or let go.’ 

‘Fucks sake, it’s only been a few days!’ His hands were trembling as he gestured with them. ‘Have this conversation with me if I’m still love sick after a year or something-’

‘All I’m saying is,’ Dad continued gently, ‘talk to me about it, or your mum if that’s easier, and… if… you can’t get back to normal, and need some time apart from her, I can arrange that for you. Discretely. You could be put on loan to MACUSA for a few months or something like that.’ 

James did not want that. It sounded like utter misery. ‘Thanks,’ he said, looking away once more. ‘I’ll think about it.’ 

‘See how it goes. It might all be fine.’ 

‘Yeah, maybe... Dad - really. Please don’t… treat her any different it’s not her fault-’

‘I know. I won’t.’ 

He sounded so sincere, that James had no hesitation in believing him, completely and utterly. He stared down at the keys of his typewriter, the letters faded almost completely off. ‘You never saw it coming?’ he asked likely. ‘The pair of us working together all the time?’ 

Dad sighed. ‘Dunno. No. Not really. I just assumed the pair of you were like me and Theia. Work well, good friends, but…’ he shrugged. ‘Seems a little obvious in hindsight. Though,’ he added, sounding rather amused, ‘I’m very oblivious about these sort of things, I think I’m always inwardly surprised when people declare office relationships to me, and then Susan says she saw it a mile off.’ 

‘Right, that reminds me,’ James spluttered, finally facing his father again in outrage, ‘I reckon Dee and Crispin are having a relationship you know-’

‘Yeah, they declared that a few months ago,’ said Dad easily. ‘I told them to keep it quiet until they’d either made it past a year, or moved in together. Did you not know?’ 

‘No!’ He huffed in disbelief, shaking his head. ‘Unbelievable…’

Dad grinned. ‘I know lots of gossip round these parts, but it’s sadly wasted on me.’

‘Yeah, well… now you know more,’ said James despondently. 

Dad reached out, and squeezed his shoulder. ‘Come on. Stop moping in here. Come into my office and read Ted’s new book - I’ve got a big tin of chocolates too.’ 

‘Really, I-’

‘James - I absolutely refuse to do work on Boxing Day, and I won’t have my son doing any either. Come on, don’t be silly.’ 

‘All right.’ 

He rose, and they left the cubicle, the light flicking off behind them as they strode down the silent corridor side by side. ‘I bet Ted’s going to kill off what’s-his-face,’ James said idly. ‘The teacher character-’

‘He better not. I told him what’d happen if he did.’


	23. Stupid Things

It was strange to be working alone, but differences like this were to be expected. He would get used to them. He’d get used to all of it, eventually. 

He rapped his knuckles on the door and waited, listening to the distant shouts of a mother in angry, rapid Spanish several floors below, and the muffled movement from the other side of the door. 

It opened just a little, the chain still on, a middle-aged woman peering through the gap at him, the crows feet around her eyes heightened by the suspicious frown. 

‘Miss Galecki? I’m Auror Potter - I think you were expecting someone to come and take your statement?’ He held up his badge, but she was already smiling.

‘Oh - yes, honey, come right in.’ 

The door briefly closed, but with a slight scrape and rattle of the chain it was swung open again and he entered a small, cramped apartment, cluttered with frilly lamps and mismatched furniture. He had stepped straight into a living area with a tiny kitchen tucked in one corner, and just one door he assumed led off into a bedroom and bathroom. A small, curly haired dog immediately started yapping around James’s feet. 

‘Ssh! Ssh! Baxter! Leave him alone!’ 

‘It’s all right, I like dogs,’ said James, crouching down. The dog fell happily onto his side, and James rubbed his belly briefly. ‘Hello,’ he said, grinning as the dog wriggled excitably. ‘You’re very good. Solid ten out of ten.’ 

‘You want some coffee, honey?’ Miss Galecki asked from the little kitchen area. 

‘Er - nah, thanks, I’m fine,’ said James distractedly. He stopped fussing over the dog, and followed Miss Galecki the few feet over to her sofa, where she settled herself down and placed her coffee on a table strewn with magazines. James sat beside her, but orientated so that he was facing her, pulling out his notepad and quick-quotes quill. 

‘Thank you for agreeing to do this, Miss Galecki, I know it must have been nasty to see.’ 

‘Awful!’ she exclaimed, her eyebrows raised. 

He nodded. ‘So you were at the scene from-’

‘From the start, yes - I’d met with some girlfriends and we arrived at the Pig around eight - well, of course we’d only been there an hour before the fight broke out.’ 

‘You identified Garcia and Wilson from the line ups yesterday, can you remember where they were in the bar?’ 

‘Yes, you know, I can - because I remember that big one, Wilson, I remember seeing him at the end of the bar and thinking he looked like he could do with a drink.’ 

‘In what way?’ 

‘He just looked…’ she shook her head vaguely, ‘looked like he’d seen a ghost. Like he’d been through something. Anyway, then Garcia came through the door, and walked straight up to him and sat on the stool beside him.’ 

James studied her very carefully, his magical quill pausing in mid-air. ‘You saw Wilson come in? You said previously your back was to the door, how can you be sure he came through?’ 

‘Well, he must have done, because I hadn’t seen him in there until then. But then he just strides straight up, sits himself down and strikes up a conversation.’ 

James frowned and nodded slightly. ‘So you got the impression they knew each other?’ 

She looked confused. ‘I don’t know about that, honey, I couldn’t hear what they were saying, and I wasn’t exactly paying attention.’ 

‘It’s a bit odd to start chatting with strangers, isn’t it?’ 

She laughed. ‘Not in there, honey.’

He hummed, in slightly amused exasperation, and resumed his questioning. ‘So how long do you think they were talking before the fight broke out?’ 

‘Oh, not long at all. Minutes. Then suddenly Wilson was standing, shouting and cursing at him, jabbin’ his finger in his face like this-’ She gestured, her long, purple-painted nails close to James’s eye. ‘Next thing I know, the wands are out.’ 

‘Can you remember what he was shouting?’ 

She gave him a dark look. ‘He was saying “fix it”... “that’s your job, fix it for me”.’ She raised her hands, in a surrender like motion. ‘I can’t remember much more than that, I just remember those words very clearly.’ 

‘Can you remember who threw the first curse?’ 

‘I can’t, I’m sorry, it all happened so fast. But it was definitely Garcia who used the Cruciatus curse first,’ she said firmly. ‘Because until then some people had been trying to break it up, and then after that - well, everyone just ran and hid.’ 

‘Understandable,’ he said gently. ‘I understand you ducked beneath the table? Which is how you were able to see what happened next?’ 

‘Yes,’ she said, lowering her voice to almost a whisper, as though scared to say anything, as though they were being overheard. ‘Wilson was saying that he loved her - and he was sobbing, let me tell you, but that could have been from the curse. Then Garcia was saying that it wasn’t love, that ain’t love, and you know I think he was crying too. Then he lowered his wand a bit, and then Wilson used the curse on him - then of course the Aurors arrived and you know the rest.’ 

‘You think both were crying?’ James asked. 

‘Yeah, I think so, honey. Wilson definitely was, but I think Garcia was too. I couldn’t see his face, but I could hear it in his voice. I think they both loved her.’ She shook her head. ‘Men do stupid things for love, don’t they?’ 

‘They certainly do,’ he said. 

‘I really wish I could tell you more. But that’s all I can really remember - I’m just sure Garcia was crying too.’ 

James nodded, and took the quill and notepad, tucking them back into the inside pocket of his robes. ‘Thank you. You’ve been so helpful.’ 

He rose, pausing to pet the dog once more before heading towards the door. ‘We’ll be in touch if we have any more questions.’

‘I do hope they find that poor girl,’ she sighed. ‘It’s not right - I don’t know what’s happening to this city.’ 

‘We’re doing our best, Miss Galecki. You’ve been very helpful.’ 

‘Your accent’s so cute, honey,’ she giggled, loitering at the door. ‘Are you from Europe?’ 

He smiled mildly at her. ‘Yeah - I’m British.’ 

‘Let me know if you need someone to show you round the big apple,’ she said with a wink. 

He smiled again, glancing briefly down at his feet. ‘It was lovely to meet you, Miss Galecki. Take care.’ 

He began to walk away, but he was nearly at the end of the corridor when she called after him. ‘Hey! Honey! You related to that Harry Potter?’ 

With a final, brief, polite smile, he left, jogging down the steps of the apartment building and out into a roaring street, the skyscrapers towering above him.


	24. Huddle

They had tracked the suspect to a deserted industrial estate, full of lock ups and warehouses, the silence occasionally broken by seagulls scavenging the litter that blew around the cracked, pot-holed tarmac in the chilly January air. 

They knew which warehouse was the right one, and they were sure he would emerge soon - they were not to arrest him, but to observe, record, gather evidence. They kept eyes on it as they found a spot opposite the steel shutters, James reaching into his pocket to pull out his invisibility cloak as they sat on the ground against the back of a garage. 

He swept the cloak over them; she had to press herself close against him so that there were no stray elbows or feet that could be spotted. They waited there in silence, watching the shutters of the warehouse, the cold air only slightly lessened by the thin material of the cloak, the brick wall they were sat against hard against their backs. He was so close to her, his lean arm pressed against hers, his unique, warm, pleasant scent surrounding her. He’d folded his arms and tucked his hands beneath his triceps for warmth. She remembered, with fierce longing, how just before Christmas she had been cold and he’d swiftly put his coat around her shoulders, but warmer than that had been when his arms had been around her, easily and casually and comfortable, and then, later, firm and intense and and close.

He was so achingly close now, and it would be nothing - nothing at all - for him to slip his arm around her shoulders once more, to let her tuck against his side and rest her head against his shoulder or chest, to hear that steady, thrumming heartbeat and feel his soft breath breeze over the crown of her head. 

No one would see. No one would know. They were hidden beneath his cloak and obligated to stare at the dull metal shutters of an apparently still warehouse for hours. It wouldn’t be much… it wouldn’t be odd… to slowly lower her head, to rest it on him… to let him hold her, just for this precious, brief time… 

But, of course she knew what would happen then. From there it would seem like nothing to tilt her head up, to see those warm brown eyes looking down at her, to see the scatter of soft brown freckles over his nose and cheeks. It would seem easy, necessary even, to kiss him, to once again feel his lips against hers, to melt into him, to lose herself entirely… 

So she sat silent and still, burning with an angry sort of need. It was like trying to resist the Imperious curse…

Finally James broke the silence. ‘This is such a cliche,’ he said. 

‘I know,’ she said quickly, breathing a sigh of relief that he had been the one to say it. She could feel him trembling with suppressed laughter. ‘It didn’t use to be this difficult, did it?’ 

‘No,’ he admitted, and though her eyes were still fixed on the warehouse, she could hear his grin. They fell into silence again, before, rather gruffly, he asked, ‘how’re you feeling about your appraisal tomorrow?’

‘So nervous,’ she said, grateful for the conversation. 

‘Don’t be, you’ll smash it.’

‘I have no idea what they’re going to ask, I’ve been going over my stats and cases since my last appraisal, but obviously they’ll already have them, and I know I did that interrogation course, but apart from that I don’t know if I’ve done enough professional development - I mean, I haven’t been on any secondments or anything-’

‘Haze, you’ll be fine,’ he said gently. ‘You know you will.’

She swallowed, and chanced a glance at him. ‘I should be picking your brains,’ she said. ‘Trying to work out how to get on your Dad’s good side.’

He stared at her for a moment, and then a taunting, mischievous grin crossed his face. ‘My dad’s all about family first, so if we just eloped-’

‘Oh, shut up,’ she said, elbowing him in the ribs as he sniggered. 

‘You know I’m kidding. Don’t worry about my Dad - he’s probably just ticking boxes. He’s all about gut instinct so he probably made his mind up about you ages ago.’ 

She groaned and let her head fall back onto the brick wall with a slightly painful thump. ‘Don’t say that, I make terrible first impressions.’ 

‘You didn’t to me,’ he said. 

‘Well you did,’ she retorted, and he laughed again. 

‘What d’you mean? I’m incredibly charming, everyone loves me.’ 

‘You tried to get me to say that your Dad was a wanker.’ 

‘Ah - yeah - oh, shit, I told him about that. Maybe that’s why he’s called the appraisal. Maybe he’s finding a reason to fire you.’ 

‘I’m not falling for it, don’t bother.’ 

‘Bugger, you’ve wised up to me.’ 

She hummed in amused agreement, and then as they slipped once more into easy quiet, she stared at the warehouse, trying to find the courage to ask the question that had been tormenting her for the past nine days. She cleared her throat slightly. ‘You said… you said that you only found out your parents saw me on Boxing Day…’ 

‘Yeah, I meant to ask about that,’ he said conversationally. ‘Did they say anything to you?’ 

‘Your Dad said hello,’ she muttered. 

James snorted. ‘Amazing.’ 

‘It’s not funny!’ she hissed. 

‘It is - come on, you know it is.’ 

‘It isn’t! It was mortifying.’ 

‘You’ll laugh about it one day,’ he said cheerfully. ‘It sounds hilarious to me.’ 

‘Glad you think so,’ she muttered. ‘Anyway…’ She waited for his chuckles to subside, and swallowed before continuing. ‘I wanted to know… why… or how you ended up finding that out.’ She felt his arm tense against hers. ‘I just… I’m really anxious about the idea that your Dad might be furious with me, or-’

‘Don’t be stupid, of course he isn’t.’ 

‘But the two of you clearly talked about what happened, so-’

‘Barely, it was a throwaway comment,’ he said, shrugging. ‘He was just checking we weren’t having some secret, undisclosed affair - now that might have had an impact on your appraisal,’ he added in a darkly amused tone.

‘Are you sure he doesn’t think that?’ she said sharply. 

‘Yeah,’ he said easily. ‘He didn’t think that really, just felt he had to ask. He’s not stupid.’ 

‘So what did you tell him?’ 

He unfolded his arms to rub his nose slightly. ‘Just… told him we were a bit drunk and it was a one off and everything was fine.’ At her disbelieving silence, she felt him shift slightly and in her peripheral vision saw him looking at her. ‘Really,’ he emphasised, ‘it’s fine. Don’t think about it, just focus on your appraisal.’ He reached out, and grasped her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. 

She looked down at it, his fingers folded over hers. It was so strange that such a tender, easy thing could make her heart thud like this. 

He pulled it away suddenly; the shutters had risen, and a hooded man was ducking out from under them, carrying a duffel bag. ‘You got the camera?’ he whispered, reaching for his notebook. 

‘Yeah.’ 

They watched, and worked, and focused, Hazel’s fleeting thought of ‘we could have a secret affair’ quickly lost to their job.


	25. Appraisal

‘Good luck,’ said James, and she swallowed and nodded. ‘You’ll be fine,’ he added. ‘Don’t be nervous - remember, you’ve seen him in his pyjamas.’ 

She threw him an exasperated look, and nearly said ‘boxers and a t-shirt, actually’, but his teasing grin slipped into a slight frown, and he brushed at something on her shoulder. 

‘What is this?’ he asked.

She dragged her gaze from his face and glanced down. On her scarlet shoulder was a dusting of fine powder. ‘Oh, shit! It’s make up, I just reapplied it in the bathroom - oh my God-’

‘It’s all right,’ he said, and he took his wand and began to carefully vanish it off. ‘Relax. He might have thought it was drugs and sacked you on the spot, but luckily I spotted it.’ 

‘Shut up.’ 

He grinned. ‘Done. See you on the other side.’ 

And before she could turn to leave their cubicle, he had kissed her forehead. They both froze. 

‘Sorry,’ he said, his eyes wide. ‘I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking.’ 

‘We can’t,’ she said, her voice hoarse. 

‘I know, I know - I agree, I just wasn’t - sorry.’ 

‘It’s all right.’ 

‘It won’t happen again - I didn’t mean to-’

‘Really, it’s OK. I don’t think anyone saw.’ 

‘Right, yeah, good,’ he said. They both paused for a moment, and then he took a deliberate step back. ‘Good luck again,’ he said. ‘It’ll be fine.’ 

‘Thanks,’ she said, and she gave him a weak smile before finally leaving their cubicle and heading down the corridor. 

She felt rather light headed, her mind swarming with the rehearsed little lines and the carefully worded areas of improvement and how to not look too disappointed if it all went tits up. 

They were both there already when she arrived at Auror Potter’s office, and she panicked that she was late, but then Auror Potter, still half laughing at something Auror Hodges had apparently said, called her in and then immediately rose. ‘Sorry, make yourself comfortable - I’ll be two ticks, just getting a tea, d’you want anything?’ 

‘Er - no, I’m fine, thank you?’ 

‘You sure? I don’t mind.’ 

‘A - a tea would be great - just milk -’

‘I’ll have a tea as well, if you’re offering, Harry,’ said Auror Hodges casually.

‘How d’you take it again?’ 

‘Bloody hell!’ she exclaimed. ‘How many years has it been? Milk, no sugar, leave the bag in!’ 

He let out a bark of laughter and waved his hand dismissively over his shoulder as he left. 

‘Prick!’ said Auror Hodges. ‘I know his! Take a seat Hazel - don’t look so nervous!’ 

She was not gesturing to one of the chairs opposite Auror Potter’s desk, but the squashy soft brown leather sofa on the left side of the room, taking a seat in one of the arm chairs opposite. 

‘Did you have a good Christmas?’ she asked cheerfully. ‘How was Portugal?’ 

She had already asked Hazel this, of course, for they had been back at work for over a week now, but Hazel appreciated it all the same. They nattered easily until Auror Potter returned, three mugs of tea floating alongside him. 

‘Black tea with three sugars, wasn’t it?’ said Auror Potter, handing a mug to Auror Hodges. 

It was exactly the sort of thing James would say, and it was oddly reassuring as Auror Hodges hushed him irritably, and they settled down, pulling out sheets of parchments and quills. 

‘It’s been six months since your last appraisal, Auror Duarte, how have you found them?’ asked Auror Potter casually. 

She took a breath, her hands still clasping her mug of tea, and began. 

They were hard to read, Auror Potter and Auror Hodges. Although both were perfectly friendly and the questions weren’t nearly as intimidating or aggressive as Hazel had thought they were be (indeed, it felt far more like a conversation than she was expecting), Auror Potter was far more stoic and far less expressive than his son, and Auror Hodges was smiling encouragingly, but seemed to be keeping a close eye on her quill, which was scribbling down notes Hazel couldn’t see. 

And throughout it all, popping up at the most inconvenient times, when she was busy trying to discuss her approach to de-escalation and conflict avoidance, when she was trying to focus, when Auror Potter was looking at her in a thoughtful, considered way, was…

_I slept with your son._

‘And where do you think this has come in most useful?’ 

‘It’s definitely put to use most often in Azkaban,’ she said. ‘Guard duties there are usually routine, but on occasion…’ 

_I slept with your son and I plan on doing so again._

‘What would you say has been your most difficult case so far?’ 

‘Probably the case we had in north Wales - the cold case.’ 

‘Ah, yes - still unsolved.’ 

‘Yes, it’s been hard to admit that we’ve run out of leads. Naturally it was such a long time ago, but I think it goes against our nature to give up…’ 

_I cannot stop thinking about how I slept with your son and how good it was._

On and on they went, Hazel trying to stay focused and not notice how James and his father were quite similar looking, up close, internally agonising over whether or not he was going to bring up what had happened, whether he’d try and trap her with some question like, ‘and how do you think Aurors should conduct themselves outside the office?’ 

But he didn’t, and he looked with interest at the points for development that Hazel had brought with her, nodding slowly as he considered them, and agreeing. ‘I think you’re very ambitious, Hazel, and you work incredibly hard - but the feedback I get from Theia suggests that sometimes this can fall into anxiety around performance, would you say that’s fair?’ 

‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I know it’s a cliche to say perfectionism, and I don’t think it is perfectionism really, more a kind of…’

‘Self-doubt,’ said Auror Hodges calmly. 

‘Yes,’ said Hazel, and then, stupidly, ‘I’m worried that I’ll get caught out and you’ll all realise I’m not actually good enough to be here.’

‘Are you?’ Auror Potter asked. 

‘Sorry?’ 

‘Good enough to be here?’ 

‘I… yes, I think so.’ 

‘You think?’ he asked, and he raised his eyebrows in a very familiar way. ‘You either know or you don’t.’ 

‘I do,’ she said firmly. ‘I am.’ 

‘Good,’ he said briskly, and he glanced at Auror Hodges, who smiled. ‘Because we have some news.’ 

She couldn’t move, couldn’t think - all nerves and worry and anticipation had vanished from her, snuffed out like a candle. 

‘We can’t reveal who it is yet, naturally, but in two weeks it will be announced that a member of the Senior Auror team is going on maternity leave,’ said Auror Potter, smiling slightly. ‘This leaves us with a gap in the team of a year - we would like you to fill that gap.’

A breath that had been suspended somewhere in her chest rose to her throat, a sudden rush of amazed happiness that made it hard not to squeal, made it almost impossible to stay dignified and professional looking. 

‘I’m sure you understand that you don’t have the usual amount of experience we commonly expect from Senior Aurors - this will be a temporary promotion, but it’s with a view to go permanent. We’re hoping that by the time the Auror in question has returned, you’ll be at a standard where we can confirm that you’re a permanent member of that team. Personally I have no doubts that you’ll meet and exceed those standards.’ 

‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, and she was so delighted that she did not have room to feel embarrassed about how breathy her voice sounded. 

‘Your role and title will chance from the first of next month,’ said Auror Hodges. ‘I suggest that you don’t discuss it with the rest of the department - the announcement will be made later.’ 

Hazel nodded rapidly. ‘Yes, of course, I understand.’ 

‘You’ll be on the lower band of the Senior team,’ continued Auror Potter matter of factly, ‘with the pay rate that comes with that, but I think it’s an excellent opportunity for you to demonstrate your capability with extra responsibilities. Susan will send you over a contract to look through in time.’ 

‘You won’t have to take on a trainee during this year,’ said Auror Hodges, ‘as technically your contract is temporary, and I think you could do with a boost in confidence before that anyway, but it is something to think about over the next year. I would recommend taking up some of the mentoring courses and thinking about how you can demonstrate leadership.’ 

‘Yes, yes, of course,’ said Hazel, who found that her head was spinning with overwhelmed joy. 

Both Auror Potter and Auror Hodges were smiling at her. ‘Congratulations,’ Auror Potter said. 

‘Yes - thank you,’ she blurted out, and she rose slightly off the sofa to shake their hands.

‘Keep it quiet for now,’ Auror Hodges warned. 

‘I will-’

‘I think you can probably tell James, as you both work together so closely,’ said Auror Potter.

All of a sudden, she couldn’t quite look him in the eye - she did not want to see meaning there. So she simply nodded at her feet, and thanked them several times more, before finally leaving, resisting the urge to skip down the corridor.


	26. Press

The idea of him being gone was hard enough. She had not expected to have her Daily Prophet delivered and see him on the front page, the moment she got to work.   
The coffee she had grabbed on the way in quite forgotten, she stared at the black and white photo. James, with an uncharacteristically mild smile, being ushered through a great, screaming crowd, waving banners and holding out pictures to sign, their hands grasping at him. The flashes of light from the cameras flickered across the photo until it made her eyes hurt to look at, but she continued to anyway. 

_JAMES POTTER ARRIVES IN NEW YORK_

_James Potter, 22, eldest son of The Chosen One, today arrived at the International Portkey Depot in New York, USA, where he will shortly begin his year-long secondment to the MACUSA Auror Office, writes Sarah Summerby, Daily Prophet International Correspondent._

_Excited fans of the Potter dynasty gathered yesterday to welcome Potter to the USA, clamouring for autographs and photos with the handsome son of perhaps the most famous living wizard in the world and Quidditch superstar Ginny Potter, 46. While in the USA, Potter will be living and working in New York, under their Head Auror Greg Griffin, as part of the longstanding International Confederation of Wizards Professional Exchange Scheme._

_The exchange program between the two governments is intended to foster international magical co-operation and the sharing of knowledge and expertise. Chester Collins, 30, will be transferred from the MACUSA Auror department to the Ministry of Magic in return._

_A statement from Harry Potter, 47, Head Auror and legendary Boy-Who-Lived, stated: “My wife and I are immensely proud of James’s talent and ambition as he continues his career as an Auror. This secondment will give him the opportunity to really spread his wings and gain insight into new methods of fighting the dark arts, not to mention the exciting experience of living abroad. Naturally, we will miss him very much while he’s away, but I have every confidence that he will flourish.”_

_“I’m also looking forward to working with Auror Collins; I understand he has excellent experience in dealing with large scale dark creature attacks, so I think there’s a lot I and the team here can learn from him. I look forward to welcoming him to the UK and the Ministry.”_

_Though James Potter did not release a formal statement, The New York Ghost quoted him as saying, “I’m very excited - glad to be here, thanks,” on his arrival.  
Of the gathered crowd of New Yorkers, the news that a member of the Potter family was in their city was too much for some to handle. “I can’t believe it, it’s like a fairytale,” sobbed Laurella Hernandez, 19, who our reporter found frantically waving a homemade banner with “We <3 you James” painted on. “I didn’t realise he grew up to be so handsome.”_

_“He doesn’t look much like his father,” said Pam Graves, 43, who seemed disappointed._

_Auror Potter’s fledgling career has already seen a series of dangerous incidents, the most recent and serious of which was the arrest of the dark wizard Gnaeus in September last year, in which his father was seriously injured. For more detail, see page 6._

She took a steadying breath and put the newspaper down on her desk, though she still stared at the photo. 

She remembered, in the elegant chateau of Beauxbatons, seeing occasional photos of the Potter family, carefully released in what she now knew, through James, was a compromise with the press to stop them hassling them. She had not recognised James when she had first met him, because it had been many years since she paid any attention to those photos, and he was an adult now, and she hadn’t been expecting to see him standing there anyway because everything had been kept quite hushed about him starting - it was obvious, looking at his arrival in New York, why. 

She hadn’t really appreciated this side of things. She had thought, very much, that the whole idea was out of sight, out of mind. That the agony they had been enduring would be lessened. 

She cleared her throat to try and stop the squeaking sort of whimper that threatened to escape, folded up the newspaper so that she couldn’t see it, and tossed it into the bin. She turned to her type writer, and spent a solid ten minutes writing up an arrest report before she stopped suddenly and pulled it out of the bin again, to stare at his face. 

He didn’t look happy, not to someone who knew him well, and guiltily she realised she was a little glad. She obviously wanted him to be all right, to make the most out of this year, but the idea that he might not miss her, that he might be thrilled at the attention being thrown at him, was almost as horrible to think about as him being utterly miserable.

She stared at him, there in blank and white, the slight marks of his freckles vanishing and reappearing under the flashes, the uneasy, slightly strained smile as he looked around at the crowd. Three thousand, four hundred and sixty one miles away, when this photo had been taken. Maybe an extra couple of miles now. He was five hours behind, so he was probably sleeping. She remembered, the morning of the 19th of December, finding him lying beside her, looking over his broad shoulder to see him lying on his side, his face still and relaxed and his eyes closed, his hair rumpled against the pillow. 

There was a gentle knock, and she turned to see Dee looking at her with a gentle, pained expression. ‘I saw the paper,’ she said quietly. ‘Are you all right?’ 

‘Yes,’ said Hazel, more brusquely than she meant. She chucked the paper in the bin again.

Dee came further into Hazel’s cubicle - just the one desk now - and perched on her filing cabinet. ‘I know it must be horrible,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But it’s only a year.’ 

‘Only a year,’ she echoed, with a soft little laugh. 

Dee winced. ‘I know, but… in the grand scheme of things… it’ll fly by, Haze.’ 

She swallowed. ‘I know. It’s better this way... we couldn’t stop - it couldn’t continue like that... I’m just going to miss him.’ 

‘I know,’ said Dee gently. ‘Come on - we have to go to the briefing room.’ 

‘What? Why?’ 

‘The American’s arrived, hasn’t he?’ 

‘Oh. Right, of course he has.’ She rose, and took a large gulp of her now cold coffee, before following Dee out.


	27. I love you

She left James’s farewell drinks early, because it was too hard to pretend that she was happy about it, too difficult to grin and laugh and agree with everyone that she was raging with jealousy, that he would have an amazing time, that the year would be over before he knew it. So she stayed for a couple of drinks, and listened to Auror Potter give a slightly choked speech wishing his son well, and then she feigned a headache so she could quietly slip away. 

When she got to her flat, she sat on the sofa and sobbed. There was nothing else she felt she could do. Eventually the tears subsided into watery hiccups and she stared forlornly at the wall, until her body seemed to forget her exhaustion and she simply cried again, wondering when these unpredictable surges of emotion would stop, and how she would possibly hide it at work. 

After a few hours that seemed to stretch for a hundred years, she heard the door knock, and hurriedly wiped away the tears on her face as she went to it, wishing that whoever it was would leave her alone to wallow. 

When she opened it, however, she came face to face with James, his face ashen and set in a kind of miserable determination. His hair was slightly wet from the rain outside. She blinked at him in surprise. 

‘I told everyone I had last minute packing… I leave in two hours,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I had to see you.’ 

They shouldn’t. They had been here several times before, and each time they had said it would be the last, until the timing was right. 

_Fantastic_ , he had said, when she had told him about the promotion, his grin broad. And then an after work drink to discretely celebrate had turned into another loss of control, and a vow that this was it now, they had to be sensible about it all. 

Then there had been the convenient excuses - I have that book you wanted to borrow. I left my scarf at yours. Let’s just hang out as friends? We can do that. We’ve done it loads of times. Let’s prove it to ourselves. 

We can’t keep doing this. We’re going to be caught. We could ruin everything. A kiss on the forehead caused enough of a faff, what if we lose it and someone walks in on us snogging? Not even my dad could cover that up. I don't want your dad to cover it up - I don't want him to know it's got like this. I’m finding it impossible not to touch your lower back as I walk past you. I keep catching myself reaching for your hand. I can’t stop staring at you across the break room. No more. This is it. The last time. 

But this really would be the last.

They stared at each other a moment longer, and then he stepped over the threshold and pulled her into a strong kiss, his hand cupping her jaw as her eyes fluttered closed. She stumbled backwards, her own hand seizing a fistful of the front of his shirt, dragging him with her, a fierce fire of urgent, desperate, frantic need storming through her as she pulled him until her back crashed into the door of her bedroom. 

He pinned her there, she could feel him hard already against her leg, her hands undoing the buttons of his shirt with such hurry that the buttons went scattering; she could hear them tapping as they bounced across the floor. His lips left hers, were making their way down her neck and bruising at her collarbone. He would leave marks, she knew it, but it was hard to care right now, when they had so little time left.

‘I don’t want to go,’ he muttered against her skin. ‘I can’t bear it.’ 

‘Don’t,’ she pleaded with him irrationally. ‘Don’t go.’ 

She saw him close his eyes, take a shuddering, pained breath. The grip on her hip tightened, his fingers pressing into her. 

Who cared? What did it matter? None of that seemed relevant or worthy enough of their attention anymore. As he pulled off the shirt that she had undone, she fumbled behind her for the doorknob and twisted it violently; they fell into her room, he pulling off her blouse in a rustle of noise as it went over her head, she fumbling with the buckle of his belt as they walked backwards until her the back of her thighs hit the bed. She was practically thrown down, he crawled over her with that blazing look, and he was kissing her everywhere, his hands caressing as their hips ground together, until they were clumsily pulling off their jeans while still trying to kiss one another, anywhere they could reach, memorising each other with their lips and finger tips, his breath breezing over her skin and leaving goosebumps where he had kissed her. 

He tasted slightly of salt, and the smell of the pub, and her nails scratched down him leaving marks on his skin as he had left on hers, their usual joy and intense romance utterly abandoned in the face of so little time, or rather so much time - stretching ahead of them, empty and alone and thousands of miles apart. 

‘Don’t forget me,’ she begged. 

‘I couldn’t - never - Hazel-’ he murmured back.

They fucked each other. Her bed shifting and scraping on the hard wood floor, Hazel calling out for more, James grunting as the sound of flesh on flesh surrounded them, she occasionally biting down onto his shoulder as he buried his face into her neck, his groans trembling against her throat. 

He pulled back slightly, though he still moved in her, staring down into her face. She did the same, each and every dusky brown freckle that was scattered across his cheeks and nose, every minute bleed of golden colour in his warm brown eyes, the exact feel of his soft hair as she laced her fingers through it, tugging at it slightly as she clung to him.

She did not want it to end, this moment of unrestrained, feral, raw kind of love, their bodies growing slick with sweat, their panting breaths coming out rushing, every movement feeling as though it should be treasured but somehow not enough. 

But it did end, as it had to, as it must. They lay there, still together, still holding one another tightly, and as he raised his hand and stroked his thumb across the rise of her cheek she wondered if they oughtn’t to have savoured it, to be slow and graceful and elegant in their passion. They might have better remembered it that way, rather than the blaze of overwhelming, painful love and bittersweet, frantic, last-days-of-Rome fucking. 

But as with everything to do with James since Christmas, she always ended up losing herself with him, and he seemed the same with her. 

He swallowed. ‘I have to go,’ he said, his voice rough in the quiet. 

She frowned slightly, skimming his hair out of his eyes. ‘Do you?’ she said. ‘I mean… fuck it. Let them talk.’ 

He sighed, as he rolled off her, and gathered her in his arms. They had had this discussion dozens of times already, and both of them had passionately argued both sides and all the possible impractical compromises in between, but here it was. It was like a cold draught, all the reasons and little incidents and overheard words that had led them to this catastrophe sweeping into the room, seeping into their skin.

‘It’s our careers,’ he said dully. ‘Both of us. It’s spiralling out of control as it is, we can’t hide it much longer.’ 

‘What if I don’t care?’ she muttered. 

‘You do care,’ he pointed out. ‘And so do I.’ 

His finger traced down her spine, her palm was pressed against his chest to feel the slowing thud of his heart. ‘A year is such a long time,’ she said. 

‘We’ll be all right,’ he said heavily. ‘I’m going to America, not to war.’ 

She couldn’t help it; she gave a spluttered little laugh, and felt him grin against her forehead, before he kissed it. 

‘Don’t start that again,’ she warned him. 

He laughed now, and then used two fingers to gently tuck under her chin and lift her face up, looking into her eyes. ‘We’ll write to each other,’ he said. ‘On the sly. And then once I’m back you’ll have been made permanent for a couple of months, so there won’t be any questions about it.’ 

She nodded, pressing her lips together. ‘We’ll be all right,’ she echoed. 

‘I love you,’ he said. He had not said it before, though it did not feel like a stunning revelation - more like a confession. It made everything harder and easier all at once, more unbearable than ever that he would be gone, more certain that he would come back. 

‘I love you,’ she said back quietly. The stared at each other for a little while longer, their fingers tracing over one another’s faces, and then his eyes flicked to the clock. 

‘I really do have to go,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll miss my Portkey.’ 

She nodded, her eyes prickling, and sat up to take her potion as he dressed. She could not face walking him to the door, simply sat there, hardly believing that the moment was finally here, that she would have to get used to a new normal. 

He kissed her once more; pressed his lips to hers like the linger of a summer sun as dusk fell, whispered that he loved her once more, and then he was gone.


	28. Cards

The day was balmy, a cool breeze occasionally ruffling through the trees and sending relief from the hot sun, all quiet except for the shuffling of cards and the occasional plop from the pond, where koi carp were feeding on the insects that landed on the surface. 

Hazel sat at a small wooden table, her grandmother in her wheelchair opposite, both of them frowning slightly at their hands, a choc ice up for grabs in the middle. The other residents of the nursing home were being visited by their own families, some of them hobbling around the little lawn, others watching the fish or talking quietly in the shaded area, the very picture of quiet, sweet, peace. 

‘Four of a kind,’ Hazel said eventually. 

Her grandmother fixed her with a cold glare, her lined face grim. ‘You could have fackin’ let me win, love, I’m on death’s door, here.’ 

‘No, you’re not,’ said Hazel calmly, with a small smile. ‘You’re just old and grumpy.’ 

‘I’m grumpy ‘cos I’m stuck with a load of fackin’ old people, you’ve gotta give me some joys in life.’ 

Hazel laughed. ‘You can have the ice cream.’ 

Her grandmother wasted no time in seizing it. ‘Don’t suppose a lager comes with it?’ 

‘Granny…’ 

‘Brenda smuggled in some voddy the other day, we had a whale of a time - til that fackin’ nurse caught us.’ 

‘You must behave yourself,’ Hazel said reproachfully. ‘You don’t want to be kicked out of another home, do you?’ 

‘Well if they just made them more fun - all they ever put on is bingo and hordes of kids doing shitty little plays. Never did any of that when I was young, why do they think I’ll be interested in it now?’

‘I told you that you could come and live with me if you wanted, you refused,’ said Hazel. 

‘Got all me friends here, ‘aven’t I? It’s not my fault it’s run like Colditz.’ 

‘Don’t exaggerate - you know the offer still always stands.’ 

‘You got a fella on the go?’ Granny asked, biting into the choc ice. 

‘Sort of,’ said Hazel. ‘His name’s James.’ 

‘What does “sort of” mean?’ Granny asked sharply. ‘Don’t let anyone mess you around.’

‘It’s complicated - some people wouldn’t be happy if they knew we were seeing each other.’ 

‘Is he black?’ she asked abruptly. 

‘I - what? No, that’s not-’ 

‘If anyone’s giving you grief ‘cos he’s black, you send ‘em my way,’ Gran said stubbornly. ‘I’ll sort them out.’ 

‘That’s not seen as a problem anymore,’ said Hazel, shaking her head despairingly through laughter. ‘God, Granny - stop-’

‘I dated a black fella when I was younger,’ Gran said, ignoring Hazel entirely, ‘I know how to tell people to fack off and mind their business.’ 

I know you do,’ said Hazel, smiling affectionately.

‘Ah, he was lovely, he was - Walt. Such a shame he had to go back to America - he was in the army - based round the corner at Rendlesham,’ said Gran reminiscently. ‘Better than your fackin’ grandad anyway, waste of space.’ 

It felt a little as though the sun had gone in. ‘You couldn’t keep in touch?’ Hazel asked quietly, picking up the cards and shuffling them. 

‘It was different in them days, wasn’t it?’ Gran said. ‘You didn’t have your smart phones and video calling and all that, you had to write to one another - calling was very expensive that far.’ Hazel nodded, and started to deal out the cards again. ‘Brenda’s boy - Connor - he helped me look him up on the Google a few years ago,’ Gran said suddenly. 

Hazel looked up. ‘Did you find him?’ 

‘Yes,’ said Gran, but that seemed to be all she was prepared to say on the subject. 

‘It’s funny you say that, Granny…’ Hazel said vaguely, after a few minutes silence, ‘because that’s where my boyfriend is. In America. He’s going to be there for ages, and we can’t talk on the phone either.’ 

‘Why not?’ 

‘He’s in a place without any signal or internet,’ Hazel said. 

Granny snorted. ‘That’s what he’s told you, is it? Men, love, you can’t trust ‘em if their lips are moving, you know.’ 

‘I can trust him,’ Hazel said, rather amused. Granny gave a hum of disbelieving acceptance. ‘I can! He’s been my friend for years, Granny. I just… we’re having to do the long distance thing. Paper and pen, like the old days.’ 

‘That can only last so long, love,’ said Granny, with her usual bluntness. ‘Eventually people drift away. They’ve got to keep living while you save up for a plane ticket.’ 

‘He’s only going to be gone a year,’ she said. 

Granny rolled her eyes. ‘Well that’s nothing to whinge about then, is it? Chuffin’ Nora - a year - I’ve had eighty three of ‘em, I only remember half.’ 

‘It feels like a long time!’ Hazel protested, giggling. ‘I know it’s not, but it’s been four months now and I have another eight to go and it just feels never ending!’ 

‘It felt that way when you lot went off to Portugal,’ said Granny. ‘The first few months, it was fackin’ awful. You were all so far away - and I know why, I understand there was all that nasty business and your dad didn’t want you staying here, so I wasn’t angry. But it was harder at the start. It got easier, especially once you all started coming back for visits. That made it feel less never ending.’ 

‘Didn’t you think about coming out with us?’ 

‘Don’t speak fackin’ Portuguese, do I?’ she said irritably. 

‘No, but neither did Mum at first,’ Hazel said, grinning. 

‘And I don’t like foreign food,’ she said stubbornly. 

Hazel tutted. ‘Granny.’ 

They played in silence for a few moments, a bird twittering nearby, the smell of honeysuckle dancing on the air. 

‘He worth it, this fella?’ Granny asked. 

‘James?’ said Hazel, not taking her eyes off her cards. ‘Yes, I think so.’

‘He better not have promised you anything,’ Granny said warningly. ‘Don’t be swayed - your Grandad told me if I agreed to marry him, I’d get a new frock every week. Did I get a new frock? Did I fuck.’ 

Hazel’s laugh echoed around the garden. 

A nurse came over tentatively. ‘Mrs Pryce?’ she said to Granny. ‘We’re all going inside now - the children from St Mary’s Primary have come in to perform some songs for us all.’ 

‘Oh, here we go,’ said Gran, rolling her eyes. ‘All I fackin’ need.’


	29. Potterwatch

It was the dead of night when she arrived in the office, and almost everything was still and quiet. There was a crackling, strange sort of voice coming from the breakroom. Muffled as though through a radio, but the voice itself sounded strange. As she got closer, she could hear that it was accented. 

‘-Throughout the Pacific Northwest. MACUSA officials had no further comment… In New Orleans, Aurors were called to assist with an infestation of Lethifolds-’

Hazel heard a muttered swear word, and she silently trod closer to the break room, where the lights were causing a golden glow to slip through the gap of the ajar door and spill into the dark corridor. 

‘-Head Auror Greg Griffin said earlier today that he expected the mission to last up to a week to ensure the creatures were eradicated…’

She expected it to be Chester - was ready to go in and reassure him that it was all right to be homesick but that it wasn’t healthy to come into the office in the dead of night to try and catch the American news channels on the wireless. Yet when she reached the gap of the door, just before she pressed her fingers to it to push it open, she peered through and saw the back of a dark grey, messy head. 

Auror Potter sat with his back to her, right beside the big office wireless, more powerful than household ones, capable of picking up signals from around the world. He was stretched out on the sofa but his arm was up on the back of it, apparently propping up his head, though she could see slight movements as though he were scratching.

‘-Expecting this to be a great success,’ a voice with a cowboy-like drawl was saying, ‘we’ve got a very talented team, they know what they’re doing - there will be no more Lethifold attacks along the Mississippi or anywhere else in Louisiana.’ 

She heard Auror Potter give a great sigh, and she panicked for a moment, utterly frozen, astonished that she had come up behind him so close without him realising, appalled at the thought of approaching him or him knowing she was there. 

She planned to back away, slowly and as silently as she had come, but just as she lifted a foot off the ground, his head turned very slightly. 

Though he could not possibly be able to see her, though she could not see his face at all, in a low, gruff voice he said, ‘is that you, Hazel Duarte?’ 

She swallowed. ‘Yes, sir.’ 

His head turned back to the position it had been in. ‘Well come in then. And put the kettle on.’

She did so at once, pushing through the door and hurrying over to the kettle on the counter tops to tap it with her wand. It started to bubble and whistle instantly.

‘What would you-?’ she began uncertainly. 

‘Tea. Milk, no sugar,’ he said. She could see now that he wasn’t scratching his head; he was rubbing his fingers across the thin, jagged scar on his forehead, tracing the lightning bolt with his fingers as he stared at the wireless. It had moved on from the Lethifolds to discuss some new MACUSA policy. 

Hazel brought the tea over to Auror Potter, and was about to leave and race back to her desk when jerked his head to the armchair nearby. Wishing he hadn’t, wishing he had spared her this, she sat nervously, her back straight and waiting for him to speak, but he was staring at the wireless again. So she looked at it too. 

But when it got onto the Quadpot scores (Boston Leprechauns 465 - Chicago Erumpents 390), Auror Potter finally reached out and twiddled the dial until it fell silent. 

‘He won’t have dealt with a Lethifold before,’ he said abruptly. ‘It’s extremely rare to get them here, there haven’t been any cases for twenty years.’ 

‘I think he’ll be fine,’ she blurted out. ‘He can do a really good Patronus.’

‘I know,’ he said stoically. ‘I taught him how when he was fifteen.’ 

‘Did you?’ 

‘I taught all my kids how to do that spell,’ he said vaguely. ‘Well,’ he said, closing his eyes and sounding more matter-of-fact, ‘Al ended up learning on his own, but I taught him the basics.’ 

‘He’ll be fine then,’ she said, but now she was here she wished she hadn’t heard it, because she was happier imagining him in some office in a skyscraper doing paperwork or interviewing people, and now she had a horrible image to contend with, of a dark shroud slinking across his floor and creeping up his bed, where he would be lying there, asleep and unknowing, choking through his dreams as it smothered him-

‘What are you doing here?’ Auror Potter asked suddenly. 

‘I - I’m sorry, I just, I heard someone was in here and I thought it might be Chester-’

‘I meant in the office,’ he interrupted. ‘You’re not on the rota to do any night work.’ 

‘No… I’m covering Crispin’s shift,’ she said. ‘He’s not feeling well. I hope that’s all right-’

He rubbed his eyes wearily beneath his glasses, sighed, and then fixed her with a rather exhausted look. ‘He’s not on it either,’ he said bluntly. 

‘Oh, I must have - or he must have got…’ But her feeble excuse died in her throat, and the colour grew deeper over her cheeks as under his sharp gaze she felt the truth of it, that she hadn’t even gone to her cubicle, that she had walked straight towards the break room for the same reason, that she couldn’t have possibly heard that there was someone in there if she hadn’t been close anyway, if she hadn’t been heading straight for the wireless, her heart aching…

He looked away from her, his hand raising to rub hard over his scar again. ‘It’ll be a long year,’ he said absently. ‘One month down.’ 

She nodded, and braced herself for questions… but they did not come.


	30. Sundays

He had not been there for very long, but already James was starting to learn that certain things were inherently different here to home. He had been prepared for some of it, naturally, had even relished the change from rolling Devon countryside to towering skyscrapers and wide, busy streets, swapping winding country lanes or the maze of little alleys in London for a large, straight forward grid one was unlikely to get lost in.

He had been prepared for the accents and how enthusiastic everyone was about everything, for everyone to talk about Quadpot instead of Quidditch (he even thought, once he understood the rules, he might be able to appreciate it), and he had been warned about the lack of a decent cup of tea and that portion sizes were much bigger - not that he had any complaints about that. 

Yet there were certain nuances he had not been prepared for. He spent the first couple of weeks confused about why his new coworkers seemed so taken aback, sometimes even irritated, when he greeted them until one of them snapped. 

‘Why do you keep asking that? Do you think I look sick or something?’ 

‘What?’ he asked, blinking. ‘I was just saying hello.’ 

‘You were asking me if I’m all right.’ 

‘Yeah, I… I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just… like… how are you? You doing all right?’ 

They understood after that, and were all very pleasant once they realised that he was not implying they looked tired or upset, but he learned to stick to saying ‘good morning’ or ‘hey’ from then on. 

When he was coming up to his first Sunday off, he leaned back in his chair, stretching, and said to those around him, ‘do any of you know where I could get a decent Sunday lunch? And does anyone fancy coming?’ 

‘Sure, there are loads of neat lunch places,’ said Jennifer. ‘You want a brunch kinda place or something?’ 

‘Oh, no I mean a proper Sunday lunch. Sunday dinner.’ He was met with blank stares. ‘A roast,’ he clarified. ‘You know, some… chicken or lamb or something, some roast potatoes - you lot don’t do that here?’ 

‘Like Thanksgiving?’ 

‘Er… yeah, but…’ For some reason, he felt his ears growing hot with a kind of embarrassment. ‘On Sundays, the whole family gets together for a roast dinner.’

‘Americans don’t like their families that much,’ joked Greg. 

‘Oh,’ said James.

‘Don’t listen to him,’ said Rosa, ‘of course we do - my family gets together every Sunday too. Come along.’ 

‘I don’t want to intrude,’ he said swiftly.

‘You’re not! They would be so excited to meet you - my parents are big fans of your dad.’ 

The openness about how aware people were of his family’s fame was another thing to get used to, particularly as the story of Harry Potter, the Chosen One, was only vaguely understood. Back home, people openly stared (usually at Dad or Al - James tended to get through life only vaguely recognised), blurted out questions about what Dad, and sometimes Mum, was like, perhaps asked him to get an autograph or picture. 

Here, he was faced with hordes of screaming fans, which had sent him into a bewildered sort of shock. Dad had written to him about it after seeing pictures in the paper, apparently, and had said that it was like that for a little while after the Battle of Hogwarts but that it calmed down. It will calm down even quicker for you, he wrote, so just be patient for now. 

James rather thought it was something to do with the fact that the Americans had only heard about it all after the fact - it seemed that most of them, at the time, had been vaguely aware that there was trouble in England, but had their own lives and politics to concern themselves with. Afterwards, the only thing that had really stuck was that Harry Potter had survived the killing curse, which was miracle enough, and after that there had simply been a fascination with the family’s private lives.

‘So your father survived the killing curse,’ Rosa’s father Marco said that Sunday over pasta and enough tomato sauce to swim in, ‘how did he do that?’ 

‘Er…’

‘Is he still very traumatised?’ Rosa’s mother asked. ‘I know it was a long time ago, but you don’t get over stuff like that do you? Or do you? Has he had help?’ 

‘Laura!’ 

‘What? I’m just askin’.’ 

‘You don’t ask stuff like that - not to the Brits, they don’t like it!’

‘It’s fine,’ said James diplomatically, but the table had erupted into noise. 

‘Don’t be racist about the Brits, they can’t help it, they’re naturally reserved-’

‘Oh my God, Laura-’

‘I don’t understand about the other guy,’ Rosa’s brother Luca said, ignoring his parents squabbling, ‘what was his deal? What was the point?’ 

‘Er - I think he was just really evil,’ James said. ‘Wanted to live forever and have everyone bow down in fear to him, that sort of thing.’ 

‘He wasn’t getting any money out of it?’ 

‘Erm… I dunno, that’s never really come up-’

‘Luca, always with the money!’ shouted Rosa, gesticulating wildly. 

‘It’s the root of all evil, Rosa!’ 

James rather enjoyed the whole experience. It was loud, and noisy, and they were all cramped around a table that was too small to fit everyone in - all of Rosa’s siblings and her aunts and uncles and her tiny little grandma who gave the impression that she spoke no English, except James caught her smiling at one of his jokes. There were even some small children, who were crippled with shyness at first and refused to look at him, but eventually one of them ventured forward. 

‘How long did it take you to learn to talk like that?’ 

‘Years,’ James told her seriously. ‘How long did it take you to learn to talk like that?’ 

She blinked at him. ‘I talk normal.’ 

So he’d ended the evening with the children giggling at the stupid jokes he always used to entertain Dora, and laughing with Rosa’s brothers, and although he felt a pang that they had not eaten the roast potatoes and yorkshire puddings drenched in thick gravy like he was used to, the food was good and softened his homesickness. 

Until, when it came time for him to go home, Rosa escorted him to the door and paused as they bade one another goodbye. She was giving him a glowing sort of look, her long, dark eyelashes fluttering as she told him that they should do it again some time, or perhaps next time somewhere a bit quieter, and he realised with an unpleasant lurch that he could not come round here again.

‘That’s kind of you,’ he said evasively, for he did not want to hurt her feelings. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow in the office.’

After that, he carefully navigated conversations with her in the office, and avoided any further invitations, which soon stopped. It was frustrating, because there didn’t be the same attitude of going out for drinks after work as there was at home, and although his coworkers were all very nice and chatty, he had enjoyed that familiarity of a large, noisy, domestic setting that he was so longing for. It was hard to swallow the disappointment that he would not be able to experience it again, and for a mad moment he considered pretending he hadn’t noticed the implications behind it, but the very second he thought it he felt Hazel’s eyes burning into him and a plummeting sensation in his stomach. 

On the first of August, the city was achingly hot, the air thick and muggy. On any other day off, James might have wanted to lie spread-eagled on the floor of his small apartment and charm a cool breeze over himself, but his owl had not yet returned from delivering his father’s birthday present and his homesickness had reached almost unbearable heights. 

So instead, he found himself, in his hot, steam filled kitchen, squinting down at a little recipe he had torn from a magazine left in the MACUSA cafeteria. Nana always made the lunches, or Mum and Dad at Christmas, but he had really thought that he had seen it all enough times to be able to make a Sunday lunch himself. 

‘What the fuck is kosher salt?’ he muttered to himself, squinting at the magazine page. It had been written for Americans looking to make something authentically British, he gathered, but he was struggling to translate it himself. He assumed normal salt was fine, because that was all he had ever seen in his kitchen at home anyway, but he was staring at the instructions to add three quarters of a cup of flour. 

He looked at the mugs and glasses and tumblers in his cupboard and wondered which of them was a normal sized cup. He guessed at what three quarters was. He did the same with the milk. The mixture congealed, and it occurred to him suddenly that he did not have the right kind of baking tray, nor the space anyway, for yorkshire puddings. Frustrated to the point of a childish temper tantrum in the oppressive heat, he vanished the mixture and crumpled up the recipe. He’d just have to go without that particular component. 

All the while, the chicken that he had crammed into his tiny oven somehow was not managing to crisp on the top like Nana always got it too, and when he pulled out the tray of potatoes and parsnips they were certainly cooked, but didn’t seem as crispy. 

‘You’ve got to get the oven and the oil really hot,’ he vaguely remembered Mum saying. But why wasn’t it working then?

‘Fuck!’ he said aloud, for he remembered now that he was supposed to have part boiled them first. 

His braised cabbage did not have the vivid red he was expecting. His carrots were fine, but he didn’t know why he made them, he never ate them at home anyway. He had dragged himself up and down the long, wide streets of the city but had been completely unable to find stuffing, and when he had asked, he’d been met with bewildered looks and told that they would have it in the fall. He probably could make that from scratch too, but he didn’t have a clue where to begin. 

He was starting to run out of time too, glancing anxiously at the clock as he fumbled over the pans and trays and checked to see if the juices from his chicken were running clear and wondering how on earth Nana managed to do this for so many people every single week and make it look so effortless. 

So, though it was patchy and things were missing and it was nowhere near the quality Nana managed, he eventually piled up his plate with as close to a traditional British Sunday roast he could manage. 

In his little apartment he was renting for the year, there wasn’t space for a table, so he sat with it on his lap on the sofa and stared at the clock on the opposite wall. It was about to turn half past nine, and the noise of the morning traffic outside was seeping through his window. But he had risen early specially for this, because he knew that in Devon, so many hours ahead, they would all be settling around the tables right now. 

Probably in the garden, if the weather was good, and probably everyone, seeing as it was Dad’s birthday just yesterday. 

The minute hand shifted to the large number six. James started.


	31. Impulse

She was still panting and gasping up at the ceiling, almost light-headed, when James turned his face to her and, frowning with false irritation, said, ‘for God’s sake, Duarte, I told you I would only come here as a friend.’ 

She glared at him, sat up slightly, and leaned over his bare chest (God, it was lean. So very nice…) to reach into the drawer of her bedside table for her potion. She felt his fingers trace down her spine as she did, and was glad he could not see her biting her lip as her eyes briefly fluttered closed. 

‘That can’t happen again,’ she said firmly, once she had swallowed the potion and flopped back down onto the pillows beside him. ‘I mean it.’ 

He hummed in half-hearted agreement. ‘I mean… you do have your promotion now…’ 

‘No, I don’t! I found out today, but my role doesn’t officially change until the first of February and even then I’m only on a contract for a year-’

‘With a view to go permanent though, you said.’ 

‘Yes, but it’s not a guarantee, is it?’ 

‘It basically is. Unless you really ballsed up. Like… if you-’

‘Don’t you dare,’ she said sharply, recognising the mischievous grin that was spreading across his face.

They had only meant to go for a quick drink after work so they could openly get excited for her and talk about the promotion news she had heard earlier that day. They had joked, repeatedly, on the walk to the pub that there could be no more accidental kisses on the forehead, no more holding hands while they were huddled up beneath his cloak, that it was strictly friendship only until there was a bit of distance from the promotion, that perhaps if they wanted to make it really realistic they should have a public fall out. 

And there were no more accidental kisses on the forehead. Just outright, fully intentional, fierce snogging, their drinks entirely forgotten, the flame of the candle on the windowsill dancing dangerously close to her hair. Who started it was impossible to say; one moment they had been laughing about James’s lack of control, the next they were kissing across the little wooden table.

James had broken away first, and said, ‘ah, we’re doing it again.’ 

‘Right - yeah - we need to set out some - some rules,’ Hazel had replied, flustered. ‘Because we can’t.’ 

‘No, we definitely can’t. Not yet.’ 

‘At some point.’ 

‘Yeah.’ He paused. ‘When is some point, though?’

They had decided they needed to talk this through in detail, somewhere quiet where there was no chance of coworkers wandering in, so, on the strict condition that it was purely as friends, they had apparated to Hazel’s flat. 

Where they promptly resumed snogging and ended up stumbling into her bed.

Now she lay there, beside him, their clothes scattered across the room, wondering how on earth her usual discipline and ability to distance herself had apparently been stripped out of her personality. 

‘I suppose,’ she said, thinking out loud, ‘this was good proof that we’re still compatible even when sober.’ 

‘Compatible?’ he said blankly. ‘Blimey, you know how to boost a man’s ego, don’t you?’ 

She rolled over so she was on her elbows, looking down at his freckled face, which was smirking in a very self-satisfied manner. ‘Very compatible, if that makes you feel better.’ 

‘Calm down, you have to give me a minute before I can go again.’ 

She tutted. ‘I mean it! This was - it was… very nice… to do it sober, but it can’t happen again. Not for a while.’ 

‘Yeah, I know,’ he said resentfully. ‘It’s all… bad timing, isn’t it?’ 

‘We just have to be patient - at the very least until it’s announced I’ve got the promotion.’ 

He frowned slightly, and, apparently with great reluctance, ‘probably have to give it a little while after that… or people will clock on won’t they?’

She nodded, oddly touched by this, and leaned forward to kiss him deeply. His lips moved slowly and gently against hers, his hand rose to brush her hair back from her face… When they broke apart, their lips stayed close to one another. 

‘We’re doing it again,’ she muttered. 

‘Stop it,’ he ordered, and then he met her lips once more. 

It was impossible to stay away from him, impossible to make her body obey what her brain was exasperatedly pleading, impossible to exercise restraint. She felt like a giddy teenager again, it was ridiculous. 

But then James gave a little groan and pulled away, looking at her with a slightly pained expression. ‘I should go back,’ he said unhappily. ‘You’re right that we…’ 

‘Yeah,’ she said quietly. 

He took a deep, sighing sort of breath and sat up, reaching for his clothes. She sat up too, and watched, running her hands through her now messy hair. 

‘Look,’ he said bracingly, doing up the buttons of his shirt, ‘maybe this was - we got all the tension out the way, yeah?’ 

‘Yes,’ she said quickly, nodding rapidly. 

‘So it’ll be easier now and we can just be patient grown ups about it and I won’t do stupid stuff like kiss you in the middle of the office.’ 

‘Absolutely.’ 

‘Great.’ 

‘Yeah.’ 

‘I’ll, erm… I’ll see you tomorrow.’ 

‘Yes - see you tomorrow.’ 

‘Congrats again on the promotion - you deserve it.’ His smile turned into a broad grin again. ‘We can’t celebrate like this again though.’ 

‘Oh, go away!’ she told him. 

He laughed, and lunged forward to kiss her one more time, pushing her back into the pillow, until she laughed and smacked him lightly on the arm and told him to go away again. He winked, and left, leaving her not with any of the guilt or anxiety she had expected, but a fluttering, hopeful joy. 

***

When James entered Sparrow Cottage and bellowed hello, dumping his bag and kicking off his shoes in the spot he always failed to remember annoyed his mother, his mind was still buzzing with delighted glee at what had just happened. 

His mother came in and lightly scolded him about his shoes, while telling him there was some shepards pie waiting for him in the oven, and he babbled about his day and dropped in the casual lie that he’d met up with Rick and Seb after work. 

‘Ooh, how are they? I bumped into Rick’s mum in Hogsmeade the other day-’

‘James? Is that you back?’ came Dad’s voice, calling from his study. 

‘Yeah,’ he shouted back. 

‘Can you come here a second?’ 

James raised his eyebrows, and looked at his mother. ‘What’s got him in a grump?’ he asked quietly. 

‘Oh, I think that Dawlish was winding him up again,’ said Mum, rolling her eyes. ‘Go and see what he wants, I’ll heat your dinner up for you.’

‘Ta.’ 

He went through to the study, rapping his knuckles on the door as he stepped through to see his father sitting in his chair, piles of paperwork around him. ‘A lot to do?’ James asked, closing the door behind him. 

Dad hummed distractedly, looking exceptionally pissed off. ‘All management stuff; new applications for next year’s intake, new rota to do, payroll, the budget-’

‘Maybe we shouldn’t have spent all of Boxing Day afternoon eating chocolate and cursing Teddy’s name,’ joked James. 

Dad put his quill down, and tilted his head slightly, though he did not look at James. ‘Where did you go, after work today?’ 

‘What?’ asked James, grinning.

‘After work - you missed dinner. Where did you go?’

James laughed awkwardly. ‘Am I back to having to let you know where I am all the time? Staying in sight? Because if so, I think that means I get pocket money again-’

‘Just answer me, James,’ Dad said irritably. He turned to face him. 

‘I was out with friends, all right?’ James said, feeling highly irritated. He thought very hard about how he had just told Mum he’d been out with Rick and Seb, but Dad was looking away again. 

‘You weren’t out with Hazel Duarte?’

‘Excuse me?’ asked James, more pissed off than ever. 

‘You didn’t kiss her today?’ Dad asked pointedly. ‘Just before her appraisal?’ 

Now he did look at James, who felt his face plummet; the guilt was surely showing on his face too. He swallowed. ‘What… what d’you-’

Dad sighed heavily. ‘I had Auror Dawlish hammering on my door this afternoon. One of the trainees claims to have seen you kissing Auror Duarte on the head, and was gossiping about it with another trainee when Auror Dawlish overheard. Given that I had just confirmed to the Senior Aurors that Auror Duarte had agreed to take up a new role, I actually, for once, think he had a point in expressing his irritation that no office relationship had been declared, particularly when I’ve had this discussion with you before.’ 

His voice, which had steadily increased in quickness and raised ever so slightly, echoed in the sudden quiet. 

‘There’s no office relationship,’ said James rather hoarsely. 

‘So you deny it?’ Dad asked pointedly. 

‘No, it’s just, erm…’ James swallowed, and glanced up at the ceiling as he tried to find the words to say. ‘I just wasn’t thinking-’

‘Are the pair of you together or not?’ Dad asked. ‘If you are, that’s fine, we can go through the process of declaring it - I might have to have another Senior Auror sit in on any future appraisals with her, but-’

‘No, don’t, she’d hate that,’ said James at once. When his father looked exasperated to the point of ferocity, he spoke quickly again. ‘Really - it was just a stupid little moment, there’s nothing going on - I told you she wants to forget it all. She - after I did that she expressly said that. She said we can’t, and I apologised.’ 

He thought this might calm Dad down, but if anything he looked more frantic. ‘Is this going to end up as a sexual harassment claim? Because, James, I cannot and will not protect you if you’re just groping the poor woman-’

‘No!’ spluttered James, highly offended. ‘No, it’s nothing like that! You know I’d never-’ 

‘I’ll do it subtly, I’ll have another member of the team ask, but I am going to make sure she’s comfortable working around you,’ said Dad harshly. ‘This isn’t a joke, James.’ 

‘I know it’s not! Do that - I’ll be glad if you do that - don’t let her know it’s coming from you though!’ 

‘I’m going to have to separate the pair of you,’ said Dad, shaking his head. 

‘No you don’t,’ said James harshly. ‘Dawlish shouldn’t have been gossiping with trainees, I mean, bloody hell-’

‘Given the timing of it, the only thing we can criticise him for is how smug he was!’ Dad protested. ‘I’ve told you before, haven’t I? About how the standards expected of you must be much higher?’ 

James didn’t answer, and Dad sat back in his chair, sighing once again. ‘When I spoke to the trainee,’ he said carefully, ‘he did say that you immediately stepped back, and that Duarte looked surprised. So I was able to calm Dawlish down. But if there’s something going on, for the love of Merlin, just declare it. It’s awkward, but just do it. It’s that simple.’ 

‘This is all a big ... misunderstanding,’ James said. ‘There’s nothing to declare except what you already know - there was a bit of a spontaneous fling, but she’s not interested in taking it further, and we’re just keeping it as being friends for now.’ 

‘For now?’ Dad asked dryly. 

James shrugged. ‘A man can hope.’ 

Dad looked as though he was struggling not to roll his eyes. James felt a prickle of guilt, the knowledge that they were going about this in a very stupid way painfully aware to him. But all the same, it was not as simple as Dad made it out to be. It was not merely a matter of declaring it, because once people knew - and in declaring it, all the Senior Leadership Team would know, Dawlish in particular, it inherently implied things. No matter how carefully they went through all the processes, no matter how good Dad was at being professional (and he was good - James had heard many times that Dad refused to have any part in his own recruitment), those same mutterings that followed James on occasion would follow Hazel too, and he couldn’t think of anyone who deserved them less. 

In addition, he realised quite suddenly, he was rather sick of them too. What happened in a couple of years when he was able to be promoted? Dad couldn’t stay out of that decision, not like he had with recruitment, because it was so much more subjective and so deeply discussed among the Senior Leadership Team. It was, he realised, going to be quite impossible for him to prove himself, with people like Dawlish skulking around and trainees keen to spread the juiciest gossip.

And what was so frustrating was that for the first time in his life he did not feel like he could talk to either of his parents about this. The pair of them had spent their entire lives shrugging off rumours and idle gossip, to the point that it no longer affected them. But when it came to their children, both Mum and Dad had fiercely protected them, all of them, endless negotiations with the press and covering their faces when they were little and crowds of photographers descended, raging a hellfire of fury on the Prophet when they had outed Al or taken pervy shots of Lily, Mum teaching them how to cast a good bat-bogey hex on anyone who gave them trouble at school. 

But that mean the slyer things, the less in-your-face things, the things that niggled at confidence and security, had always been slightly misunderstood by them. The wilderness years between Dad and Al had been one thing, but the response from both his parents whenever any of them had complained about hearing, second hand, of gossip or rumour had always been ‘just ignore them.’ 

Because for Mum and Dad, they’d had to do that so often and had had much more serious stuff to worry about that it really was that simple. Were he to go to either of them and say, ‘both myself and the woman I love feel undermined in our career achievements because of the association with Dad and his role,’ the response would almost certainly be, ‘do everything by the books so they don’t have anything to throw at you, and then tell them to get lost if they’re still bitter about it. Just ignore them. You know you’re doing well.’ 

James looked down at his feet, a swift, stupid, clever idea coming to him. ‘You know you… you mentioned about MACUSA?’ 

‘Yes…’ said Dad quietly. 

James looked up, looked his father dead in the eye. ‘Could you look into that for me?’ 

Dad was very still, suddenly very stoic looking. ‘When I… said that… I only meant… we can have a think, if you just want a bit of distance - we could just put you on separate desks to begin with, her being promoted is a good excuse for that-’

‘I’m not saying I’ll definitely do it,’ said James. ‘But could you just see what’s available?’ 

‘Yes,’ said Dad. He said it as though James had just asked if a beloved pet had died. ‘I can contact the Head Auror there. See what he’d be open to.’ 

James nodded his thanks, and left without another word.


	32. Dream

They were laughing together, the sound of her voice like pealing bells around him, her dark eyes shining up at his face, the gold sequins of her dress glinting like a thousand tiny snitches. She sat on the kitchen counter, though the sky above them was vast and a clear blue, and he was fixated on her laughing mouth, the jewel red of her lips, the curve of them, the softness. He thought he had never been as happy as this.

That was all it was, that laughter, and the scent of the herb garden nearby, and his hand on her soft thigh, the material of the dress skimming against the back of his hand as she leaned closer and closer, her murmur of his name a warm breeze against his lips…

He felt a terrible, agonising sense of impending doom, and he stumbled back. Hazel’s eyes had gone black, her mouth open in a terrible, furious scream, her teeth pointed and sharp and dripping, her hair and the hem of her dress whipping around her in the sudden fierce wind that was lifting her into the air as it swept away the rest of the garden and the kitchen counter and the blue sky above them, leaving only thick black clouds that smothered, choked, he couldn’t breathe, he wanted to claw at his own throat, to rip it out so that he could get air in his lungs that were surely filling with something heavy and painful, but he could not move, transfixed by the demonic vision before him… he was suffocating, suffocating, the world grew darker…

***

It slipped through the trees and glided silently over the water. It could sense it, almost taste it. Delicious.

The roots reached like fingers into the bayou, made the water seem to ripple with darkness even when still and glassy. It liked it that way, the humid, close heat of the night, the creaking chirp of insects.

The little cabin was over the water, and as it grew closer it knew it was right. It curled around the post that sank deep into the boggy ground, slipped up it like a rotting rope being pulled, then onto the slippery decking. It skulked along the boards before it hushed beneath the tiniest gap under the door, creeping in like a whisper. There was no stopping it.

It was small, and it could sense it anyway, could hear the _thud thud thud_ of the heartbeat, taste the sweetness of the dreams, the jumble of emotions, all so delicious. It was so hungry. It was no wonder it took no time at all to find it.

It brushed against the wall a little, but it was nothing but the sound of a wrinkle in fabric brushing against wood, unnoticeable even to those who were not deep in slumber. It slipped into the tiny bedroom, and with a slight wooshing noise, slipped up the wall to rush up into the top corner to survey the scene.

It lay there, a man, he could see now. He could not cope in the heat - his bare chest rose and fell and glinted slightly with sweat, but his sleep was deep enough. There was movement beneath his eyelids, a slight twitching of the eyebrows, and it could sense a writhing table of delicious delicious feelings of joy and deep sorrow.

It slid back down the wall like water, floated mere millimetres off the wooden floorboards, and slipped up the foot of the bed, clinging to it as though it had been dragged there.

Over the feet and across the body, the _thud thud thud_ of the heart louder than ever and the sighing _hush woosh hush_ of the lungs and now that it was close enough flashes of laughter and summer breeze and the scent of thyme and rosemary and sage and red wine and glinting gold…

It covered him as a thick cloak would hide a body. Over his mouth, it stole the very breath from his lungs and the joy from his dream and it greedily listened to the increasing em>thud thud thud thud thud of his heart and the now rattle of his lungs as he panicked.

The eyes flickered open; it saw brown like the colour of the trees that dipped into the water like fingers, but it did not move. It was thrilled.

Feasting, feasting, feasting, delicious-

‘Expecto patronum!’

Another man - it had not seen him lurking in the other corner, waiting, and now his shining silver jackrabbit was bounding towards it. It shrank away in horror, tried to flee back into the secluded depths of the swamp, but as it floated into the air and twisted with a snap like the flourish of a cloak, it found the path back to the door blocked by a glowing silver stag.

Pinned between the two ethereal animals, it succumbed.

***

James watched the strange, shadowy like creature writhe and twist in the air, twisting and knotting like a dark sheet caught in a breeze, before it simply seemed to fade away, as a shadow does when a match is struck. The Lethifold was destroyed.

He was still panting heavily, his heart still racing, but he looked over at Isiah with a slightly uneasy grin. ‘Another one down,’ he said.

Isaiah chuckled. ‘I still think you’re best at being the bait.’

‘Nope - absolutely not. We’re taking turns just like everyone else,’ James replied teasingly. ‘It’s not my fault they seem to like me best.’

‘You must have good dreams,’ said Isaiah. ‘About pretty ladies.’

‘With you staring at me in the corner?’ said James. ‘Nah, you’re all right, mate.’

Isaiah laughed harder. ‘You crack me up, Baby Boy.’

James did not particularly like this nickname that had been inflicted upon him so swiftly by the American Aurors. The original ‘Baby Boy Who Lived’ had been grim enough, in his opinion, but the shortening was so much worse. Nevertheless, in the interests of not looking like a killjoy, he allowed it.

He rubbed his eyes groggily and looked at the clock. ‘I’ll make myself a coffee and take the next one - nearly time for us to switch anyway.’

Isaiah agreed, and James nipped into the little kitchen while he got into bed, reaching for the sleeping potion. They probably had a bit of a stretch - Lethifolds didn’t gather like Dementors, they were more solitary. It would take a while before another one traveled into the vicinity of their cabin, one of many that MACUSA had dotted over the infested area.

He waved his wand over the coffee pot in the dimly lit kitchen - the very smell seemed to wake him slightly. He felt a painful tugging sort of sensation in his chest as he thought of the dream.

He wished his dreams weren’t always so abstract and nonsensical like that. Nothing had actually happened in it, and the kitchen counter had been kind of outside? Or had it? It was fuzzy, because he had definitely thought he was in the kitchen but also outside, and although Hazel was there and laughing he didn’t know what about or why they were there. The gold sequined dress had been self-explanatory, he supposed, but the smell of Dad’s herb garden and the bright blue sky hadn’t really made any sense, and it irritated him that none of it was real.

He took his coffee, and went out onto the wooden deck at the front of the cabin, sitting to swing his legs over the dark water. Fireflies danced over it, and he watched them a little entranced, because they didn’t have anything like that at home, and though he assumed they were probably rather ugly up close, the little spots of light were eerie and beautiful against the looming trees stretching out of the water and hidden banks, slivers of moonlight breaking through their branches.

The cicadas creaked and chirped loudly, as he stared at the fireflies, and James felt himself bewitched into a kind of trance, like the world was growing and shrinking around him.

He wished that he could dream a real memory. He wished he could dream of when he, Crispin and Dee had gone round to Hazel’s to play board games and eat fish and chips and how he had made a show of leaving before Crispin and Dee, but had - quite accidentally, of course, left his scarf.

He had waited at home and told himself he could get it tomorrow, even as he considered how long it would take the others to leave, and finally when he had convinced himself that he was just going to pick up the scarf and go, and that the others would probably still be there anyway, he went straight back.

‘I left my-’ he began, but Hazel was already kissing him, her fingers running up into his hair, leaning her hips into him as she pressed him against the mantle of the fireplace he had just stepped out from.

They hadn’t left the living room. They had eventually stumbled their way over to the sofa, where she had straddled him and whispered that he’d been driving her mad all night.

‘You told me I was being annoying,’ he murmured back, pulling off her bra.

‘You were,’ she said breathily, as his lips lowered. ‘You are.’

Her hips had ground against him and his lips had traced across her soft skin and his hands had gripped her thighs and eventually they were doing what they had said they wouldn’t do again, the pieces left on the boardgame rattling slightly as the edge of the sofa nudged the coffee table.

Then, afterwards, they lay together. Somehow it seemed there was space on that little sofa all of a sudden, for them to lie there and slowly move their hands over one another’s bodies, to let their eyes trace faces and lips smile softly. For that quiet, still moment, it had seemed as though everything was right, that it wasn’t stupid what they were doing, that it wasn’t a lack of self control at all but something normal and right and wholly good.

He blinked, and swallowed - a distant splash had shaken him out of his reverie. He’d been told there were alligators here, and he hoped to see one, but so far every over excited sighting had been a log. He was not in the mood to go looking for them though.

He tilted his head, but could not yet hear Isiah’s usual snores, nor could he hear the ting! like a windchime that signalled something had broken the magical boundary they had set up. He had time. He lazily waved his wand, and summoned parchment and a self-inking quill.

_Dear Hazel,_

_Sixth brush with a Lethifold tonight - absolutely smashed it, obviously; easy. At the rate they’re coming, I think I’ll be back in New York within a week. Bit of a shame really, because it’s quite amazing here. I’ve enclosed some pictures._

_American Aurors are fine, good people to work with. All still very enthusiastic about everything. I think I need to do something outrageous/funny/dangerous soon though because that nickname seems to be sticking and needs to be replaced. You better not have told the others, or when I get back, I’ll get my revenge, you know I will._

_Thinking of you a lot, and hope all is well. Certainly hope the rumours have stopped. Don’t need to hope you’re doing well in your new role, because I’m sure you are._

Isiah’s snores started. He frowned, but put the letter away to finish later, heaving himself up to go and hide in the bedroom. It was strange watching over a sleeping person, but he was starting to get used to it.

He’d get used to it all soon, he told himself.


	33. Gossip

He had sat down on the floor to rifle through the lowest shelf in the records room, which was why they didn’t see him. He was too distracted by his case, searching through faded leafs of parchment and squinting at ancient photographs, determined to match the reconstruction up with some missing person from decades ago, and that was why he didn’t announce his presence, even though he heard them bustling on the other side of the shelves.

They didn’t bother to keep their voices down, because as far as they were aware, they were the only ones in the dusty, dark room anyway, and James could hear that it was the trainees, a mixture of the fresh ones and the ones approaching qualification. He suspected it was one of them that had gone tattling to Dawlish about his stupid, impulsive kiss of Hazel’s forehead, and he scowled down at his file, trying not to listen to their inane chatter.

‘Bleaughr, I hate working down here, some of these files are so creepy.’

‘Do you want to be an Auror or not?’

‘I don’t mind seeing this stuff in real life, but there’s just something so sinister about reading them all so dispassionately - especially some of the famous ones.’

‘Have you read the Benji Fenwick one?’

‘Who?’

‘Some bloke who died during the war - proper grim. Look-’

‘Oh! God! Mate - what’s wrong with you?’

‘Hah!’

‘Oh, put that away, the pair of you - can’t you talk about something a bit lighter? Isn’t it wonderful about Auror Bosley? A baby - I did think she was maybe looking like she’d put a little on, but I didn’t want to say anything just in case.’

‘I thought the same! Especially when she started getting put on desk duty so much.’

‘I tell you what, it’s going to be mental once she’s gone - the lower level Seniors are one down anyway, aren’t they? ‘Cos they never replaced Woodman, did they? When he cracked and quit.’

‘Ssh! Don’t say that.’

‘Well he did!’

‘They’ll promote someone else up, I bet.’

‘Ooh, promotion up for grabs?’

‘Calm down, Digby, you have to actually qualify before you can become a Senior Auror-’

‘Fuck off, I wasn’t-’

‘Anyway, it’ll be one of Auror Potter’s pets, probably.’

James stiffened, and listened closely.

‘His son, most likely,’ sneered one of the trainees.

‘Come off it, he’s only been qualified a year, hasn’t he?’

‘Just over, I think.’

‘You think that matters when you’re Daddy’s special boy?’

They snickered, and, gritting his teeth, James raised his head to look in the direction the voices were coming from, as though if he glared hard enough he would see through the filing cabinets and wads of parchment inside.

‘That’d be too obvious though, wouldn’t it?’

‘Who’d say anything? You?’

‘Dawlish might.’

‘No one ever listens to him - he has good points sometimes, you know. Mark my words, it’ll be Potter Junior.’

‘Nah.’

‘Didn’t you find it suspicious Potter apparently got top marks in his exams?’

‘He is quite good at it all to be fair - and they’re marked independently.’

‘Sure they are…’

‘I don’t reckon it’ll be Young Potter, but it’ll be some favourite of Potter Proper.’

‘Or one of Potter Junior’s buddies…’

‘Yeah! I heard that Crispin Lapointe actually had to repeat a year-’

‘I heard that too! I didn’t know you could do that-’

‘Well, you can if you happen to be good buddies with the boss’s son.’

‘Convenient.’

‘Maybe that’s the trick we’re missing - gotta get in good with him. Get invited round to play while our mums chat in the other room.’

They laughed loudly, and James tried to pretend to himself that he was going back to his work, but was listening with a fierce, indignant fury, flitting between glorious ideas of passive aggressively coming round and dumping a load of his paperwork on them (that’s what trainees were for, after all), waiting to hear them really cross the line so he could grass them up to his dad (which would prove their point, but fuck it), or simply walking through them so they knew he had heard and letting them worry about it for days after.

‘Right, my money’s on Lapointe then. Or Dee.’

‘Oh, I like Dee! She’d deserve it, I reckon.’

‘Nope - she’s Potter’s intake, she hasn’t been here long enough. But they’ve been friends since childhood and I reckon Auror Potter favours her for it.’

‘Really?’

‘Yep. Guarantee it’ll be him, her, or someone else nice and cosy with him.’

‘Well do you know what I saw?’ one of them said in a hushed voice. ‘I was told not to mention it again, me and Issy, but a while back I-’

James sprang up, and rustled his work loudly; there was instant silence from the others in the room, and he felt a rush of savage pleasure as he swept past their row, so they all got a good look at him, and opened another drawer to rifle through, before making himself comfortable in one of the chairs beside it. Funny how they all worked silently after that.

***

‘I, er… heard some trainees gossiping today,’ he said, as they trudged up Diagon Alley.

‘What abou-’ she interrupted herself with a small gasp, and elbowed him in the ribs. ‘Look!’

He followed her gaze to see a passing witch with a huge, fluffy golden retriever, his large brown eyes glancing adoringly up at her as they hurried along in the opposite direction to James and Hazel. ‘Dog,’ Hazel whispered.

‘Excellent,’ he said appreciatively. ‘A fourteen out of ten if I ever saw one. Extra points for the insane tail.’

‘And the depth of the coat,’ Hazel agreed. ‘Finely maintained.’

‘Perfect form,’ he said pompously. ‘Good temperment. Good dog.’

She laughed lightly, and they continued past Twilfit and Tattings. ‘Sorry, what were you saying?’

‘Oh, yeah - I er, overheard some trainees gossiping today, speculating on who might be covering Bosley’s mat leave and whether it meant there was a promotion up for grabs.’

‘You didn’t say anything did you?’ she asked, alarmed. ‘I agreed with Auror Hodges, I don’t want to steal Auror Bosley’s thunder, I don’t want anyone knowing yet-’

‘Of course I didn’t,’ he said swiftly. ‘I’m just concerned because they reckon it’s going to be me, or someone close to me - there were a few pointed comments about my Dad and favouritism.’

There was a long, bleak pause, their feet crunching on the gritted cobbles of Diagon Alley, the last of the snow clinging, grey and slushy, to the gutters. ‘Oh,’ she said eventually. ‘Right, well… that’s why we’re keeping it secret, isn’t it? I mean,’ she added hastily. ‘Not doing anything.’

‘Not doing anything at all,’ he agreed at once.

‘The last time was absolutely the last time,’ she said firmly.

‘Completely agree. Hundred percent.’

‘It’s not going to happen again so we don’t need to worry.’

‘Right,’ he said. He hesitated. ‘They didn’t actually mention your name - I thought one of them was about to, because I reckon it was the one that might have spotted us… anyway, they were actually suggesting Dee and also saying Crispin was able to repeat a year because of his friendship with me.’

‘But that’s stupid,’ she spluttered. ‘He was in my intake, the year before you even joined.’

‘I know, but they’re idiot trainees, they don’t care do they?’

‘Well… at least they didn’t mention my name,’ she said uneasily.

He hummed his agreement, but the awkward silence resumed. They were both, he know, acutely aware that the reason Hazel had not been named was probably because she wasn’t as loud as Dee and Crispin. That as soon as everyone knew she had been promoted they would probably roll their eyes and snidely point out that he and Hazel had been partnered for years under Dad’s favourite Senior Auror…

It was not, James realised with a slight jolt, that they didn’t have a point. He had certainly been placed with Auror Hodges deliberately, and he had no doubt that Hodge’s career of working so closely with Dad had been a tremendous boost to her career. But he rather thought that people had got things the wrong way round - Dad liked people that showed dedication and talent in their work and made friends with them. He didn’t promote people above their station for the sake of friendship - he had been quite clear to James that he must score highly on his exams and achieve high job performance, even if he did fiddle with the rota in James’s favour now and then.

‘I was thinking,’ he said slowly, as they ducked down a little side alley and began to climb some battered metal stairs to the flats above the apothecary, ‘of… maybe asking Dad to put me forward for that MACUSA thing after all…’

She gaped at him. ‘You… you said that was a no go, because they would only accept exchanges for a minimum of a year-’

‘Yeah, I know-’

‘Less than a year would be too disruptive, they said, and a year is a really long time,’ she said, her voice quickening.

‘It’s not that bad…’

‘It’s ages!’

She had paused at the curve of the stairs, turning to face him. He looked at the rusted handrail. ‘In the grand scheme of things it’s not,’ he said quietly. ‘And you know we won’t be able to hide this for long, so it’ll just follow you-’

‘People will get over it, they can gossip all they want,’ she said.

‘You care hough, don’t you?’ he pointed out, finally looking at her. ‘That’s upset you, what I’ve just told you.’

Her cheeks turned a dusky red. ‘Yes,’ she admitted stiffly. The colour deepened further, and an expression of bitterness crossed her face. ‘They weren’t even discussing who would be capable for the job?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Just who they thought my Dad would pick from favouritsim.’

She seemed to swallow, and nodded slowly, looking distantly somewhere around the top of his chest. ‘They’re just petty trainees though, aren’t they?’ she said hollowly.

He nodded too, and leaned against the handrail - risky, as it seemed to wobble slightly under his weight. ‘Yeah, I mean… who cares what they think? But… you’re not the only one,’ he said quietly. ‘Doesn’t matter that my qualification exams were marked externally, somehow I’m still only here because I’m “Daddy’s special boy” or something…’

At the way he spat the phrase, she looked at him, her eyes wide, her lips parted slightly. ‘They said that?’

He did not answer her. His jaw ached from gritting his teeth. ‘I need to do something unconnected to Dad,’ he said eventually. ‘For you. And for me.’

She stared at him for several moments. ‘I think you’re right,’ she said quietly.

He felt a dull sense of disappointment, and realised that he had perhaps been hoping she would fly into a rage, forbid him to do it, beg him not to go, point out that yes, actually, a year was a really fucking long time.

He sighed. ‘Let’s go and interview our witness, shall we?’

She blinked, and looked around as though realising for the first time where they were. ‘Right - yes. Let’s.’

The continued up the creaking metal stairs to the battered door above, James shoving his hands into his pockets to stop himself from reaching out to touch her.


	34. Holiday

‘Greg,’ Harry greeted, shaking the man’s hand. He was shorter than Ginny was expecting, but he still cut an impressive figure; slightly grizzled looking, in a roguish, handsome way, with a crop of brown hair the same shade as the carefully scruffy stubble on his face. 

‘Good to see you, Harry,’ he replied, and then he turned to Ginny, flashing a brilliantly white smile. ‘And this must be your charming wife, I’ve heard so much about you, Mrs Potter.’ 

‘Auror Griffin,’ she said pleasantly, shaking his hand. ‘Please do call me Ginny.’ 

She had long learnt not to bother trying to correct people into referring to her as Ms. 

‘I trust the journey was good? Smooth?’ 

‘Very good - well done on not letting it slip to the press, I was worried we’d be mobbed at the Portkey Depot.’ 

‘You know what they say about loose lips,’ said Auror Griffin casually. ‘This way.’ 

He led them through the glittering lobby, and Ginny gazed around the building with interest. It was a huge, towering sort of place, art deco in style, hundreds of windows from the surrounding office shining down, throwing light on the vast golden sculptures of phoenixes which flanked the stairs. 

They passed through bronze statues of witches in wizards in old, simple robes, and Harry began to speak. ‘It’s been a long time since our last meeting, Greg - a few years now, isn’t it?’ 

‘Yes, I think I came to you - how is London? How’s that - what’s his name - Proudfoot?’ 

‘Oh, yes, he’s well - finally starting to slow down and accept more desk jobs.’ 

Auror Griffin laughed, and led them over to the elevators. As the door closed and the noise and bustle of the lobby was momentarily silence, he turned to grin at them. ‘Still doesn’t suspect a thing.’ 

Harry gave an amused hum. ‘How was he when you gave him his Christmas rota?’ 

‘Not happy. He’s a polite guy though, didn’t complain.’ 

‘Of course he didn’t,’ said Ginny primly, standing a little taller. ‘Though I still think it was mean not to tell him we were coming, Harry.’

‘It’s more fun as a surprise!’ Harry protested. ‘And it’ll be nice, just the three of us.’ 

‘And to be fair, it will be helpful having him around for a couple of days over the holidays,’ said Auror Griffin. ‘It’s tricky balancing people being away for long periods of time.’ Ginny tried not to show her irritation, forcing a smile at him. For heaven’s sake… “helpful”... she had been utterly appalled when Harry told her how few days holiday were available to the American Aurors. 

‘Maybe I’m too nice a boss,’ he’d said. Letting people take two weeks off at a time.’ 

She’d simply scowled in response. ‘Can’t you pull some strings?’ 

‘I think that’s why he went across an ocean - to get away from me pulling strings,’ Harry had replied. Then he had shrugged. ‘We could go to him? He does get some days off over Christmas. We could have a nice little holiday ourselves.’ 

So that was how they’d found themselves getting up at the crack of dawn to drag themselves to the Portkey office, sitting around in an uncomfortable waiting room for hours for what felt like no apparent reason, Harry’s head on her shoulder as he snoozed away, before making the journey themselves, stopping only to drop their bags at the apartment they were renting before heading straight to the Woolworth building. 

‘Am I still all right to work from here?’ Harry asked. 

‘Naturally. Take a few days though - let him show you the sights, have a different sort of Christmas.’ 

‘Yes,’ Ginny agreed. ‘It will be lovely - our eldest is spending it with his family, and our middle one is going to his partner’s family, so it was always going to be a quiet one anyway, may as well spend it somewhere exciting.’ 

‘What about your youngest?’ 

‘Oh, we’ve ushered her to her partner’s as well,’ said Harry. ‘She didn’t seem too upset about it.’

‘Didn’t want to come shopping?’ 

‘Hah! No.’ 

He led them down a long corridor - here passing witches and wizards seemed to start recognising them, grinning excitedly, staring, nudging their friends. Clearly the law enforcement office was expecting them. 

‘In here,’ Auror Griffin whispered, and he pushed open a door. 

The American Aurors were all in an open plan office, without the cubicle boxes, so she spotted the back of her son’s head immediately; honed in on it like he was a snitch. The other Aurors were looking up, grinning excitedly, their eyes widening as they jerked their heads to alert their friends and subtly point (mostly at Harry), but Auror Griffin raised a finger unnecessarily to his lips and they all remained quiet and silent. 

James did not notice, his head bent over a file as he scribbled in it intensely, a map of the US spread out beside him that he glanced to occasionally. Ginny turned to smile at her husband, share her pride that James was working so hard, but Harry’s eyes were fixed hungrily on his son as they slowly and silently walked towards him. 

You could have heard a knut drop in the office, but as Ginny moved behind her son and gently placed her hand on his shoulder, there was a rise of cheers and endeared squeals from the watching Aurors. 

James had jumped slightly, turned to look over his shoulder, and seen his mother smiling down at him. Before she had time to register the widening of his eyes, he had leapt up and pulled her into a fierce enough hug to rival her own mother, and she laughed as she squeezed him back, swaying him slightly. He had ducked his head down to bury it into her neck, like he had always done when he was little. ‘We came to surprise you for Christmas,’ she said affectionately. ‘You didn’t really think we’d spend it without you, did you?’ 

‘Did you bring tea?’ he asked, muffled against her. 

‘Of course we did. And some proper biscuits,’ she assured him. ‘And some of Nana’s fudge.’ 

‘Oh my God,’ he groaned in relief, and she wasn’t the only one who laughed. It was so good to hold him again, no longer her cheeky little monkey, but a fully grown man now. It had been so hard to let him go at all; the letters were no match for being able to hug him like this, see with her own eyes that he was OK. 

James pulled away, and turned to look at his father. Harry’s eyes were, Ginny noticed as he grinned broadly at their first born son, rather shiny as he accepted James’s rough hug, clapping him on the back. ‘You’ve been missed,’ he said gruffly. 

‘Yeah, I would bloody hope so,’ said James. He pulled back, and sheepishly seemed to realise that the entire office was beaming at them. ‘Yeah, all right,’ he muttered at them all, his ears turning scarlet. 

There was a ripple of laughter, and Auror Griffin winked at him. ‘Take the day, kid.’ 

James looked back at his parents, surprised. ‘I can’t believe - my flat’s really tiny, you know, there won’t be-’

‘That’s all right, we’ve rented a place,’ said Ginny. ‘Go home, grab some stuff - you’ll be staying with us over Christmas - you can show us around.’

An hour later, she was watching as James heaved a large suitcase over the threshold of the large loft apartment (far more modern than she was used to, with a stunning view over the skyscrapers of the city that didn’t quite seem real), chattering away excitedly to Harry, who had gone to help him. 

‘-Oh! And we’ll have to go to Smorgasburg - it’s amazing, Uncle Ron would love it - there’s all these stalls, I think it’ll be on in Prospect Park on Sunday. They have proper Mexican, not the crap we have at home-’

‘But no tea, apparently?’ asked Harry, amused. 

‘No - speaking of which - Mum?’ 

‘Kettle’s on,’ she said smoothly, pointing her wand at it. She had not been able to find one in the rented apartment, so had transfigured a saucepan, but it did the job - it started to rumble and whistle as steam pillowed into the air from the spout. 

James stuck close to her as she pulled out a box from one of her suitcases - from within it she took a box of proper tea bags (which she chucked to Harry so he could start preparing their tea), and the various other bits and pieces that James had lamented over in his letters. 

‘Some brown sauce - I know you were saying your breakfasts haven’t been the same - some Honeydukes, oh! There’s the biscuits - you’ve got some digestives, Hobnobs, Jaffas-’

‘Amazing,’ said James, gathering them all up in his arms with an awe-struck expression. 

‘And Nana’s fudge - she made you plenty, and some mince pies too, but we’ll save them, shall we? Some butterbeer, some scotch eggs - not sure how they’ll have fared on the journey though, not sure my cooling charm kept - some steak and ale pies - they’re frozen, reapply the charm before you stick them in the back of the cupboard-’

‘That’ll keep you going for the next few months, won’t it?’ said Harry warmly, and James dropped his huge pile of food unsteadily onto the glass coffee table to take the cup of tea he was holding out. 

Ginny took hers too, but she didn’t drink it, simply watched with amusement as James drank deeply, surely scalding his tongue, moaning slightly into the mug. ‘God, that’s so good,’ he said eventually, swallowing heavily. ‘People keep giving me herbal stuff.’ 

‘Good grief,’ laughed Harry, settling onto the sofa. ‘No one wants that perfume water.’ 

‘Exactly.’ He looked at them both, a slightly stunned expression on his face. ‘I can’t believe you’re both here - I - I really though I wouldn’t get to see anyone this-’

‘Sweetie, we weren’t going to let that happen, were we?’ Ginny tutted. ‘Christmas on your own - don’t be so silly.’ 

‘No - I’m sure I’d have gone with a coworker or someone - Isaiah or Connor or someone - I just didn’t think I’d…’ but his words trailed off and he hugged her once more. 

‘We’ve missed you so much,’ she told him, rubbing his back soothingly. ‘Everyone has - they all ask after you at the Burrow, you know.’

‘I miss them,’ he said. 

She pulled back and looked at him closely. ‘Are you unhappy here?’ 

‘No,’ he said stubbornly. ‘It’s great. I’m having fun. Can’t a man be homesick once in a while?’ 

‘It just seemed to take you such a long time to settle in - I have to admit I was worried that if you did come back home for Christmas you might not come back here again for the rest of the programme.’ 

His ears reddened slightly, but he twisted to look at his father. ‘You hear this? She’s determined to get rid of me.’ 

Harry laughed. ‘Get some biscuits out and come and tell us about it all - then somewhere nice for dinner?’ 

‘I almost exclusively eat pizza here,’ said James. 

‘Oh, James…’ Ginny sighed. 

‘What? It’s got veg on.’ 

So they drank tea and wrapped up warm against the biting, windy cold outside and walked through the snowy streets, each one bursting with Christmas lights and heavy with crowds, the windows of the shops glittering with extravagant displays, the air thick with the seductive scent of pretzels, hot dogs, falafel, the noisy traffic interspersed with horse and carriages ferrying shivering tourists, the buildings taller than Ginny had ever seen, so she was craning her neck as she squinted up at the darkening sky to see the lights at the top. 

And all the while her vibrant, handsome, wonderful son peppered them with questions, not even pausing to scold them for holding (thickly gloved) hands. How are the others? How’s Céleste? What do you mean walking? Jesus Christ. What about Dora? Has Ted finished his next book yet? What are the others doing for Christmas? With Scorpius’s Dad? Isn’t that going to be really awkward? The Death Eater-y grandparents won’t be there will be? What about Lily? What about Nana and Grandad? Where are they going this year? 

They let James pick the restaurant, and though Harry teasingly rolled his eyes at him when he saw the prices on the menu outside, he and Ginny had both been more than willing to spoil him and well prepared for their first evening to be an expensive one. So they sat down to steak and red wine at a table by the window, watching gusts of wind flit round the huge buildings and swirl the falling snow. 

‘It’s pretty amazing here,’ she said, staring out at the wide, busy street. ‘We’ve been so worried about you out here on your own.’ 

‘I’m fine,’ he said dismissively. ‘Everyone’s been nice. It’s been good fun. Done some exciting things through work.’ 

‘Oh yes?’ said Harry interestedly. 

James gave him a shrewd look. ‘How’s your blood pressure doing at the moment?’ 

‘Hmm, all right, maybe tell me when I’m not stuffing my face with red meat.’ 

‘Yeah, reckon that’s best - been weird being treated by someone who’s not Healer Gower.’ 

‘Christ. Don’t, James.’ 

James laughed and Ginny hushed him scoldingly, but felt soothed somewhat by how relaxed her son seemed. 

‘And I don’t know if you heard, but Auror Duarte’s promotion has been made permanent,’ said Harry, and Ginny looked at him carefully out of the corner of his eye. His tone was casual, but he was watching James closely. 

‘Oh, that’s good,’ said James, looking down as he cut his steak, his tone equally casual. ‘When did that happen?’ 

‘You don’t know?’ 

‘Why would I know?’ 

‘I thought you might have been writing to some of your friends,’ said Harry, shrugging. 

Ginny was certain of it now, James was entirely avoiding their gaze, reaching for the pepper grinder and busying himself with his food. ‘Er, yeah I wrote to Crispin a bit, and Dee. He’s thinking of proposing, you know.’ 

‘Is he?’ said Harry, clearly uninterested. 

‘Yeah, that’s what he said - his letter was ages ago, though, he might have done it already.’ 

‘I don’t think so,’ said Harry. ‘That’d be big news round the office, you know what the gossip mill’s like.’ 

James hummed darkly, but continued to look down at his food, otherwise acting as though he were entirely at ease. Then, eventually, in an extremely casual voice, he said, ‘I bet Auror Duarte’s doing well though, isn’t she?’ 

‘Of course she is, or we wouldn’t have made her permanent,’ said Harry. 

‘Yeah, obviously,’ said James swiftly. ‘And what about the others - has Auror Bosley had her baby yet?’ 

‘Yes,’ said Harry, a little more brightly. ‘A little boy - Ruari. She brought him in on her keep in touch day, he’s very sweet.’ 

‘He’ll be in the same year as Céleste,’ said James. ‘Maybe they’ll be friends.’ 

That was as close to Hazel Duarte as the conversation ever got. At night, Ginny and Harry would whisper to one another on their pillows about it. I don’t understand why he won’t talk to us about it. I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on. Maybe it was true, maybe he was hoping they would drift apart and it would all be over by the time he got back. Maybe we shouldn’t be bringing her up. I don’t believe that. He must think we’re stupid. What if it’s no better when he comes back and he wants to move out here permanently. Oh, God. Don’t say that. Don’t. 

During the days, James would be at work and she and Harry made the most of their holiday, the first one they had had alone (or, well, almost alone) since before James was born. It felt like the old days; she got quite uncharacteristically giggly about it all, especially with Harry’s greying hair hidden under his hat they could quite easily pretend they were in their youth again, though on the windy boat trip around Staten island, she pulled it off him so she could admire the way it ruffled in the breeze, reach up and run her fingers through it as she kissed him. They tried ice skating again at the Rockerfeller centre and he hadn’t improved at all since they were young, clumsily clutching at her, both of them breathless with laughter. 

News had spread, somehow, that they were here, and a few times they had to dart away from photographers or excitable fans, but in such a large city this felt rather easy to do, and they enjoyed relative anonymity as they walked hand in hand through Central Park, took pictures together on Brooklyn Bridge, tried bagels and pretzels and hot dogs and pizzas that all seemed so much better than at home. 

In the evenings, when James was back from work, they would prepare dinner in the apartment or go out to eat, or he would take them out to bars with incredible views or live music, gradually telling them (quite whitewashed versions, she was sure), about the exciting missions and cases he had worked on over the past nine months. 

On Christmas Day, they had bought as much of the expected food as they could, and Harry prepared the Christmas dinner while James had them both in stitches describing his failed attempt at a Sunday roast, the last minute Christmas tree they had bought bursting with presents beneath it, all sent along by their loved ones back at home. 

‘I forgot to part boil the potatoes and parsnips, so they weren’t crispy at all,’ said James. 

‘Did you dust them in some flour?’ 

‘No.’ 

‘You’ve got to dust them in flour after you’ve boiled them, before they go in.’ 

‘Can you please write all this down for me at some point? I had to use American recipes out of a magazine and it was all in cups. Apparently no one in this country has heard of a set of scales.’ 

They toasted to those at home and exchanged gifts (James was horror struck, as he had apparently sent her and Harry’s presents to the UK before they had arrived here, and for once she believed him), and though their Christmas was so much quieter than any she had ever experienced, and she missed her other children very much, she was so glad to see James and Harry laughing together, playfully arguing over whether or not James had cheated when pulling his cracker. 

Harry had made the food perfectly, because of course he had, and considering the amount they ate and drank and all the hard work he’d put in to making it all, Ginny thought it was quite reasonable that he fell asleep, stretched out on the sofa, while she and James finished off the cheese course. 

The setting winter sun was rather spectacular, throwing the towering buildings into a pink-orange glow, the snowy roofs of those below them still visible. She and James took their wine out onto the little balcony to get a better look, and took photos - just a few years ago, she thought as he pressed his face beside hers and held the camera up in front of them, there was no way her cocky little boy would have wanted selfies with his mum. 

‘It’s freezing,’ he muttered eventually, rubbing his hands. ‘Dunno whether to stay and get frostbite or listen to Dad snoring.’ 

She laughed, and waved her wand - the balcony was suddenly bathed in warmth as though they were under a patio heater. James leaned his elbows on the wall, and looked down. ‘When are you and Dad going back again?’ he asked. 

Another time, she might have laughed and said, ‘cheers,’ but there was something fearful in his voice. ‘The day after tomorrow,’ she said gently. ‘Would you like us to stay longer? There’s another Portkey going back on New Years-’

‘No, it’s all right,’ he said abruptly. ‘You’ve got to go back eventually, eh?’ 

She went and stood beside him, putting her arm around his shoulders as she looked at his face. He tried, she had noticed, to be stoic like Harry, but he had never been much good at hiding his expressive nature. The mimickry of her husband’s expression did nothing to disguise what she could see.

‘You could come with us,’ she said quietly. ‘You don’t have to stay here. No one would mind, really, if you left the programme early.’ 

‘No, I made a commitment,’ he muttered. 

‘It doesn’t matter. You’ve done almost a year-’

‘Yeah, there’s only four months left. I might as well stick it out.’ 

Her heart broke a little. ‘Have you been really miserable here?’ 

‘No,’ he said, and then he looked away from her. ‘No - I meant what I said, it’s fun, everyone’s nice, I’ve done some really interesting work…’ 

‘But?’ 

He turned his face back, but could not seem to look at her, instead staring down at his clasped hands. He sniffed, and swallowed, apparently gearing himself up to say something. ‘I just miss everyone,’ he said. ‘I miss you lot. Miss my friends. Miss her.’ 

He had not meant to say the last bit, that she knew, but she was hardly surprised. She sighed. ‘Sounds to me like she’s missing you a lot too.’ 

Now he did look at her, out of the corner of his brown eyes, just the same as hers. He did not say anything, and she smiled softly. 

‘Your Dad often goes into the office to listen to the International wireless stations. I think a certain someone is often there too.’ 

He winced, and shook his head. ‘She shouldn’t,’ he muttered. ‘That’s so obvious - she shouldn’t-’

‘Why are the pair of you putting yourselves through this?’ she asked sharply. ‘You both baffle me. What’s going on?’ 

‘Nothing,’ he said moodily. 

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t be so like your father - he’s not perfect, you know. It’s OK to be a Weasley and say what’s on your mind.’ He closed his eyes, and she rubbed his back soothingly. ‘You love her,’ she said simply. ‘I know that-’

‘Dad told you,’ he snapped. ‘I knew he would-’

‘No,’ she lied patiently. ‘You can’t pretend you’ve been subtle about it, sweetheart.’ 

He took a large gulp of his wine, and stared moodily out at the setting son. ‘Yep,’ he said brusquely. ‘But it’s shit, Mum, it really hurts. It’s agony.’ 

‘Goodness,’ she said crisply, looking out at the sunset too. ‘Must be true love then.’ 

‘How did you and Dad do it?’ he asked dully. ‘You had to be apart during the war, didn’t you? For about this long.’ 

‘Mmm, and we didn’t know when it would be over,’ she said distantly. ‘Or if he’d come back.’ 

‘You knew really though,’ he said flippantly.

‘I didn’t!’ she emphasised, looking back at him. ‘I hoped, obviously, told myself he’d be all right, but I remember we were laying the table and he let slip what he was planning to do, and I remember just staring at him thinking it was impossible. That he was going to end up killed.’ 

‘How did he let something like that slip?’ he asked incredulously. 

‘Oh, you know him, he was making some snarky joke,’ she said carelessly. ‘But anyway, it was all I could do to kiss him one last time and then just… wait.’ 

‘Well now I feel like a melodramatic arsehole,’ he muttered. 

‘Don’t be silly. It’s different for you both. For one thing, I don’t think you’ve got a very good reason to be apart, have you?’ 

He spluttered indignantly. ‘We do!’ 

‘Oh, really? Are either of you at risk of dying?’ 

‘Not - not any more than usual in our jobs-’

‘Either of you being hunted by a megalomaniac?’ 

‘No, but-’

‘No wanted posters up of either of you?’ 

‘You’ve made your point, Mum.’ 

She squeezed him closer, and kissed the temple of his head. ‘So what’s your stupid, noble reason then?’ 

He considered a while before answering. ‘You can’t tell Dad.’ 

‘Oh, James, I-’

‘No, really,’ he said urgently, and he glanced over his shoulder to look through the glass doors. Harry was still stretched out asleep on the sofa, a plate of half eaten stilton and crackers rising and falling on his stomach. ‘You can’t tell him.’ 

‘All right,’ she said solemnly. 

He looked back at the sunset, frowning a little like George always did when he was thinking. ‘It’s in two parts, really… the first, is that Hazel’s really…’ he sighed. ‘Well, look, she was absolutely mortified that morning-’

‘Oh, she doesn’t have to be, we don’t care-’

‘I know, but she is,’ he insisted. ‘That’s the way she is, she can be a bit nervous around people and worry about what they think of her - especially considering Dad’s her boss. And she’s very much someone who wants to do stuff on her own terms, doesn’t want to doubt herself or worry that people secretly think she’s not up to something. So this - this promotion, this stage of her career, she’s got to prove to everyone, and herself, I think, that she can do it herself, that it’s not being influenced at all by me and her. Cos other people have been gossiping, you know, and it only would have been worse if I’d been around. If she can do that, if she can feel more secure in her career and stop thinking that she’s - she’s got here by luck or chance or because she slept with me or something, then she can get round to thinking about how to stop being mortally terrified of her boss and and start worrying about how to make a good impression with you both in a more normal way, after you both saw her creep out the house.’ 

Ginny smiled wryly. ‘She doesn’t need to worry about that. And the second part?’ 

‘The second part is me,’ he admitted. ‘People gossip about me too. I thought it would calm down once I qualified, because the exams are marked externally and everything, and because my achievements would speak for themselves, but I’m still… Harry Potter’s son.’ 

‘Your Dad worried it was something like that,’ she said sadly. ‘He’s aware of it, you know, that’s a big reason he stopped fudging the rota to keep you out the way - that and I pointed out that you were more likely to get hurt if you were inexperienced.’ 

‘I pointed out the same!’ he said, with great exasperation. ‘Muppet.’ 

‘He can’t help it,’ she said gently. ‘I’d do the same. One day, if you have kids, you’ll see that you would do the same. It’s only natural, and I think for your Dad in particular - you are all so precious to him. We’ve all missed you a lot, but I think he hasn’t known what to do with himself.’

‘He’s overprotective,’ said James. 

‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘But you can’t blame him.’ She caressed her son’s hair, the same darkness as Harry’s, but without the wildness, as much as she was sure he would prefer it to be, and looked into his beautiful face. ‘We both love you so much.’ 

‘I know,’ he said. ‘But I had to..’ 

‘Prove yourself,’ she said, nodding. ‘I know, I understand. And Dad does too.’ 

‘Have I hurt him?’ he asked hoarsely. ‘Have I hurt his-’

‘No!’ she hushed. ‘No, of course not - he knows what a weight his name can be on you all. He’s sorry for that. But he’s so proud of you - we both are.’ 

‘I know the gossip and mutters won’t stop,’ he said. ‘I know it will come up when it’s time for me to be promoted, and any time after that too. For as long as Dad works there. But at least, if I’ve done a year here, I’ll know. For me.’ 

‘Sounds like you and this Hazel both have a very similar thirst to prove yourselves,’ said Ginny. 

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And a year’s nothing, really, isn’t it?’ 

‘When you’re old it is,’ she said. ‘But you’re very young. I think you’re being very brave.’ She hugged him. ‘I’m sorry it hurts.’ 

He hugged her back, his hands gripping the thick, knitted wool of the jumper her mother had sent her, and she could feel his face scrunched against her neck.


	35. Adrift

She let out a little gasp and clumsily hit the back of her hand against his arm. ‘Dog,’ she said, in a whisper-like tone. 

His eyes followed her gaze to the cocker spaniel tied up outside Honeydukes, his tail wagging madly at everyone who passed, then back to her, bemused. ‘Um, yeah,’ he said. 

Hazel’s cheeks grew hot, but she tried to ignore it as she led him around the corner of the high street. 

‘Wow,’ he said, blinking. ‘That’s it, huh? That’s Hogwarts?’ 

‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘That lane leads up to the gates.’ 

‘What was it like studying there?’ he asked. 

‘Oh, I don’t know, actually - I went to Beaux-’

‘Must have been cold - it looks really cold,’ Chester continued, holding his hand over his eyes as he squinted up at the castle. 

‘Well… I hear the common room is quite cosy… armchairs and a fire and things…’ she said vaguely. ‘The Gryffindor common room, anyway...’ She wasn’t sure if he was listening or not, so she trailed off, and waited beside him, looking up at the castle too. 

James always spoke about it with such fondness, and whenever they had been in Hogsmeade he’d taken great delight in pointing out Gryffindor tower, counting the windows and shouting, ‘that’s it! That’s where my bed is! It better have been left untouched; I carved my initials into the bedpost so everyone knows it’s mine.’ 

Something felt very heavy in her chest, and it seemed as though the sun had suddenly gone in, though the late summer day was as bright and blue as it had been before. They stood in silence, and she supposed someone else might have started asking him about Ilvermorny here, comparing it to Hogwarts, but she had only ever seen Hogwarts from the outside and cared very little about Ilvermorny. In fact, at this moment, she couldn’t bloody stand Chester.

‘Shall we get a move on, then?’ she said coldly. ‘Put an end to the tourist sightseeing?’ 

Chester blinked at her, looking rather taken aback, but dutifully followed her as she led him along to Dervish and Banges. 

The bell trilled as they entered. She had been to Borgin and Burke’s before, and she had expected Dervish and Banges to be somewhat similar, but it was somehow bright and airy despite the clutter, with delicate looking silver instruments moving rhythmically on display cases, foe glasses shimmering with cloudy darkness, sneakoscopes twinkling in the summer sun filtering through the thick paned windows, second hand cauldrons in what seemed like every size stacked precariously, and an embossed tin sign which read ‘Hogwart’s trunk restoration - from just three galleons’.

‘Mr McVay?’ she called. 

An elderly, large-eared man came hurrying out, beaming. ‘Are you the Aurors?’ 

‘We are, Mr McVay.’ 

‘Yes - excellent - I have it here - one moment-’ He vanished behind the counter for a moment, and she heard rustling and the scrape of something heavy being dragged, before he returned, straining slightly, as he heaved a box onto the counter. 

‘Now, I don’t think he could have known what it was,’ McVay said warningly, ‘or he would have taken it to somewhere like Borgin and Burkes where they wouldn’t come to you - people know we don’t deal in dark nonsense here. But all the same, I think it is a dark object - or dark enough to give you a call anyway.’ 

He had wisely put on gloves to extract it from the box of seemingly harmless junk - old hairbrushes and photo frames, music boxes and a carriage clock - before gently placing it on the counter. 

It was an ancient looking perfume bottle, the dark, dusky pink glass fogged with dusk, the tassels of the fabric spray pump tired and tattered looking, and if that had been all, Hazel would have disregarded it as quite stale, but innocent perfume. However, beneath the dust, she could just make out the swirl of the perfume - or potion - inside, constantly shifting as though glitter in shaken water, rippling into what she was sure was…

‘What’s the deal?’ Chester asked, frowning at it. 

‘Can you see the skull?’ she pointed out patiently, and though she did not touch it, she traced out the shadow of the shifting skull near the clouded glass. 

‘Precisely,’ said Mr McVay, nodding eagerly. ‘He said he bought an old house, and all this was still in the attic. I haven’t touched it but I expect he did, so the glass is probably all right - but I have heard it hissing, so I think it could-’

It was as though he had prompted it; Hazel leapt back as the perfume bottle suddenly spun on the spot so that the nozzle was pointing at her, and with a hiss, a little puff of vapour lurched towards her. 

The mist vanished before it reached her, and she looked back up at Mr McVay, who was stood, quite frozen, his eyes widened in shock. ‘Well… that’s what I worried it could do, but it hasn’t done it so far.’ 

‘I’m muggleborn, might have something to do with it,’ she said wryly. ‘These sort of objects always have a grudge against me. Chester - package it up safely, would you? Mr McVay, tell me as much as you can about the customer who left it here - did he leave an address?’ 

Twenty minutes later, Hazel was walking slowly back through Hogsmeade, looking over her notes, while Chester carried a faintly hissing box. ‘This is so cool,’ he said. ‘We don’t get many old dark artefacts back home - how old do you think this thing is?’ 

She gave the box a sideways look as she considered. ‘Not sure. Not that old I don’t think. Early twentieth century? Late nineteenth?’ 

‘Wow.’ 

‘So… what sort of things do you usually deal with?’ she asked, trying to sound politely curious rather than desperately anxious. 

‘A lot of dark creatures,’ he said casually. ‘There’s a lot of wilderness, but keeping certain beasts away from muggles or stopping them from causing deaths and injuries can be a real pain in the ass. Your standard crimes - murders and unforgivables - you know the drill, people are assholes wherever they are. A lot of tracking people down - there’s more places for them to hide.’

‘Well, that doesn’t sound too bad,’ she said. 

Perhaps it was the relief in her voice that made him look at her. ‘Um, yeah… it’s OK. It’s interesting being here because y’all have fewer creatures but then weird stuff like this.’ He nodded down at the box. 

‘We do have some creatures,’ she said. ‘Dementors and things-’

‘Right, and Auror Potter told me about the inferi last year,’ Chester said with a slightly amused chuckle. 

‘Yes,’ she said, tersely. ‘That was awful.’

‘Yeah, it sounded it! Potter had loads of questions about how we deal with swarming creatures like that-’

‘Auror Potter,’ she corrected. 

‘-We had a really great talk about it and, hell, I just had to pinch myself - here I was giving advice to Harry Potter!’ 

‘Auror Potter.’ 

‘He was so cool about it though, really interested - he’s a really nice guy.’ 

She nodded. ‘Yeah, he is, he’s a good boss.’ 

‘You worked with his son, right? The new me?’ She hummed her response. ‘What’s he like?’ he asked. ‘Weird to imagine him sitting at my desk while I’m sitting at his.’ 

He was still talking eagerly, his voice fading into background noise as he chatted away enthusiastically and she let her mind drift. 

_What’s he like?_

As though he were stood in front of her, his grinning face filled her mind, the laughter at stupid inside jokes, the endless playful insults, the ease of him, the way he could so casually hold her like it was nothing when in fact it was everything, he was everything, and without him, she felt as though she were adrift at sea, directionless and cold. 

She remembered, almost unwillingly, that rare moment they had had, in that hazy time where they tried to convince themselves that they weren’t together, that they were simply friends for now, He had brought some files round to her flat, claiming he wanted to go through them with her. 

She’d lectured him on how that was against the rules, they shouldn’t be removed from the office, still gesturing wildly at him as he flopped onto her sofa and swung his legs up to cross over her lap, opening one up. 

‘The inconsistency,’ he’d said, ignoring her protests with a slight grin as he held the file open lazily with one hand. ‘One moment he reckons he left the Leaky ‘cos last orders had been called, then on the next page he says he says he went into the Winking Cyclops-’

‘That’s not necessarily a-’

‘I told you all those pub crawls were research - what, you don’t believe I don’t know the closing times of every wizarding pub? You know full well the Leaky doesn’t call last orders til midnight, but the Cyclops calls it at eleven - I know my pubs, Duarte. Some of us have a social life.’ 

‘Give me that!’ she said, lunging forward. ‘I can’t believe you, you shouldn’t have this-’

He stretched his arm out behind his head, dangling the file over the arm of her sofa, so that she was lying on top of him now, trying not to laugh with him as she grasped for it, his sly comment about her chest in his face making her momentarily stop to pinch his side...

‘He’s a very talented auror,’ she said at last. ‘I’m sure he’s… flourishing in New York.’


	36. Declaration

There was a knock on his door. ‘Yeah, come in,’ he called distractedly, still looking down at the daily report. He heard the creak of the door and glanced up, expecting it to be a senior auror, but gave a surprised smile as James shuffled awkwardly into the room. 

‘Settling back in?’ Harry began to ask, but as James stepped aside, Harry’s expression froze into one of amused resignation. 

Hazel Duarte was shuffling in too, looking determinedly at her feet. ‘Have you got ten minutes?’ James mumbled. 

‘What about?’ Harry asked dryly. 

James gave him a very familiar look of exasperation that Harry was more used to seeing on Ginny, and led Hazel (whose entire face seemed to be a dusky pink), to the leather chairs in front of Harry’s desk. 

Harry waited. 

‘Erm…’ James took a breath, the tips of his ears red, ‘as per the rules set out in the guidebook, we understand that we have to… formally declare that we’re in a relationship to the Head of Department.’ 

‘I’m shocked,’ said Harry flatly. ‘You’ve got to tell me these things carefully, James, you know what my blood pressure’s like.’ 

‘You said you wouldn’t make this awkward!’ James accused him. 

‘You’re right - my apologies, Hazel,’ said Harry. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, and spun his chair to reach into the filing cabinet behind him, grateful for the moment where he did not have to look at them, and pulled out one of the HR packs. 

‘OK,’ he said, trying to keep his tone as neutral and professional as possible as he turned back to them, ‘thank you both for coming to me and making us aware.’ 

‘Merlin’s balls, do you have to use that?’ said James sharply, as Harry positioned a recording quill over the form. 

‘No,’ said Harry. ‘I could call in Susan or a top-range senior auror, if you would prefer - I think Hodges, Wright and Davies are all in today.’ 

‘The quill’s fine,’ Hazel blurted out. 

Harry nodded at her, then looked questioningly at James who nodded curtly back, looking everywhere except his face. ‘Good,’ he said with a sigh, and he positioned the quill. ‘As I said, thank you both for coming to me. I appreciate it’s never something people look forward to, but it’s important that the department is aware of internal relationships for a range of reasons, including internal HR or management issues that may arise later, accusations of corruption or favouritism, risk of blackmail or threat externally, conflicts of interest on certain missions, investigations, tasks, etc., etc.; do either of you have any concerns or questions regarding this?’

They both shook their heads. 

‘You need to answer for the quill,’ Harry prompted awkwardly. 

James muttered something under his breath and briefly put his head in his hand. ‘None from me,’ he said. 

‘No, I understand,’ said Hazel swiftly. 

‘Great,’ said Harry, his voice unnaturally forced. ‘So, some brief questions - you absolutely do not have to go into detail,’ he added firmly, ‘but so the department is aware, do you both forsee this as an ongoing, long term relationship or are you informing us of a brief relationship which has now ended?’ 

‘Ongoing,’ said Hazel. 

‘Longterm,’ said James at the same time. 

‘And - again, without detail - how long has this relationship been ongoing?’ asked Harry. 

‘Since I got back from America,’ said James promptly. 

Harry stared at him, his expression halfway between a glare and scathing. ‘One week?’ he said. 

‘Yeah.’ 

‘Your relationship is one week old?’ Harry repeated pointedly. 

James shifted in his seat and glanced easily at Hazel. ‘Yeah, well, we went out for a drink after I got back and realised we fancied each other, didn’t we?’ 

‘Yes,’ agreed Hazel unconvincingly. ‘I suppose I didn’t realise how much I missed him.’ 

‘Or how handsome I’ve got during my time away,’ said James. 

Harry raised his eyes to the ceiling, and let out a long, low sigh that he was grateful the quill was unable to record. Choosing his words carefully, he continued. ‘It’s very good of you both to let us know so soon then, many couples wait until much further in the relationship before letting the department know.’ 

‘Well, we understand the importance of it,’ said Hazel quickly. 

‘Yeah, and when you know, you know, you know?’ said James, who seemed to have cheered up somewhat. 

Harry glanced at the quill, which was poised expectantly, and then roughly seized a different one and the back of one of Dawlish’s whiny memos. 

You won’t be in trouble if it’s longer, he scrawled, and held it up furiously at them. 

James patiently gestured for the scrap parchment and quill, and Harry handed it over. James wrote calmly, and then held it back up. 

I don’t know what on Earth you are secretly accusing us of - not very professional of you, Auror Potter. 

Harry snatched it back. ‘Right, well then,’ he said loudly. ‘If that’s the case, that’s quite straightforward - the Auror department asks that you keep the relationship low key around the office until you have either made a solid and public commitment to one another such as living together, an engagement or otherwise, or until you have been dating for a significant amount of time. This does not mean you have to lie to your colleagues or sneak about, which often fuels more gossip than intended,’ he said meaningfully, but James stared coolly back, ‘but it means that you should not openly act as a couple within the office or at work associated events, nor make any public declarations of love, innuendos about one another in the break room, and so on.’

‘Is that stuff fine if we move in together?’ asked James innocently. 

Harry glared at him. ‘No. We expect you to take a common sense approach to this - there should be absolutely no public displays of affection within the office, even if you believe yourselves to be alone.’ 

Harry decided to ignore the apparently subconscious sideways glance both his son and Hazel exchanged. 

‘Right, got it,’ said James. 

‘And Auror Duarte,’ said Harry, shifting his chair to look directly at her. Her eyes widened, and she seemed to shrink a little. ‘As a Senior Auror, there may be times when Auror Potter is under your command. It is not against Ministry policy to date subordinates but, due to the inherent power dynamics involved, any accusations of favouritism or coercion will be taken seriously-’

‘You think she’s coerced me?’ James spluttered. 

‘This is standard policy I have to read out to you both,’ Harry reminded him. He looked back at Hazel. ‘As a Senior Auror, it’s your responsibility to ensure that these problems do not arise, and the best way of doing that is for you both to maintain professionalism within the office.’ 

She nodded rapidly. ‘I understand.’ 

‘Good,’ said Harry. He hesitated. ‘Finally… you do not have to decide this yet, but we advise you to think carefully about how closely you wish to work together, either from now on or as the relationship progresses. Some couples find they do work better together, and the department understands that, but we would also caution you that it can be… very difficult… in this job, in certain cases… to work alongside someone you love. Should you request it or should we come to the conclusion that either of you are finding it distracting, we are able to shift teams around. In other words, please be open with us about this.’ 

He lowered his hand - he had not realised he had raised it to touch at the scar on his forehead. James was back to looking distinctly uncomfortable, avoiding his father’s gaze once more. They both nodded again, but then Hazel seemed to remember the quill. 

‘Oh - erm, yes. Understood.’ 

‘Yeah,’ said James swiftly. 

‘Any questions?’ 

‘No.’ 

‘No.’ 

‘Great,’ said Harry quietly, and then he turned to the quill. ‘Meeting closed,’ he told it, and with a flourish it drew neat lines and printed their names at the bottom, while the text and the ticked boxes of the form glowed into permanency, unable to be changed or erased. 

Harry seized his other quill, and quickly wrote his signature under his name, before pushing it across the desk. ‘If you could both review, and sign to confirm that you have informed the department of your relationship and that I, in turn, have gone through the policy with you. Now is the time to ask any final questions.’ 

They both leaned in, reading over the document, and Harry leaned back, his elbow on the arm of his chair, his chin resting against his fist, and looked at them. 

There was so much of the people he loved in his son. The dark hair and occasional cockiness of his own father, the shape of Ginny’s eyes and cheeks and the splatter of of Weasley freckles, the ears that betrayed his embarrassment or anger like Ron, the occasionally evil, mischievous grin that seemed to match George, little inflections and turns of phrase that he’d picked up from years of mimicking Teddy, the preoccupation with family and closeness that seemed born from the heart of Molly Weasley. 

And now he sat, leaning forward as he read over a form, his head so close to Hazel’s that their temples were almost touching, muttering quietly to her, and then finally picking up his quill to sign his name. He made the ‘P’ of Potter in the same way as Harry.

Then he looked up, and Harry raised his eyebrows slightly and smiled against his fist in a slightly tired sort of way as Hazel signed her own name. He thought James almost seemed to smile back. ‘Well,’ he began, as Hazel put down the quill.

‘Nope,’ said James, standing at once.

‘Now hang on-’

‘No. See you later.’ James looked at Hazel and jerked his head towards the door - she gave a panicked glance at Harry and seemed to brace herself as though undecided whether or not to get out of the chair. 

‘You don’t need to run off-’

But James was already striding out the door. Harry laughed and looked back at Hazel, who was still half perched in her chair, with wide eyes. ‘Don’t look so terrified,’ he said kindly. ‘I’m not exactly shocked.’ 

‘I’m sorry about the one week thing,’ she blurted out. ‘We just thought it was better-’

‘To wind me up with?’ he suggested, amused by the horror that immediately crossed her face. 

‘No, no, not at all - just, you know, in terms of it being official and that’s what the whole America thing was for really, wasn’t it, so it just makes sense that-’

‘It’s OK,’ he interrupted calmly. ‘Really. I’m glad the pair of you aren’t putting yourself through this anymore.’ 

Her lips, that had been parted in hurried panic, seemed to quiver into a relieved smile, and she nodded. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. 

‘You really are going to have to stop being so scared of me though,’ he advised. 

She laughed. ‘That’s exactly what he said.’ 

‘It’s true,’ he said, with a tilt of his head. ‘You’ll be fine once you meet Ginny. And my daughter. We’ll arrange that soon.’ 

‘I’m looking forward to it,’ she said. From her smile - the most relaxed Harry had seen her since the Christmas before last - he could see that she meant it. 

Which made the next part so much harder. 

He hesitated. ‘I’m not saying this to try and put you off, and I’m sure if James knew I was saying it at all he’d be furious… I’m not…’ he paused, choosing his words carefully. ‘It’s not a warning, and you shouldn’t think of it as such… but you should be aware that connection with the name ‘Potter’ comes with its own challenges. This won’t stay private for long.’ 

‘I understand,’ she said. 

Harry doubted she did, truly. ‘Just… brace yourself. And if it ever becomes too much, just come to me - or my wife, if you’re more comfortable. We’re used to wrestling with the press by now.’ 

‘Thank you,’ she said. She looked oddly surprised. 

He smiled at her, and then glanced towards the door. ‘You’d better get back before he comes marching back in here assuming I’m being terribly embarrassing somehow.’ 

‘Photo albums?’ she suggested lightly, rising from her chair. 

‘Oh, plenty of those,’ he replied. ‘They’ll be cracked open the moment you set foot in the house I think.’


	37. Times Square

The night air was freezing cold, but it could not be felt through the jostle of thousands of huddled bodies, squashed together in a shuffling herd, pressed against friend and stranger alike, novelty hats and thick coats and balloons and noisemakers taking up every available space. Around them, bright muggle lights adorned the towering buildings and overwhelmed the senses, stretching high into the dark sky, advertising things James could barely fathom, vast squares of shifting images bigger, even, than those he had seen at the Quidditch World Cup. 

James was staring up at it all, his eyes wide, his lips slightly parted. 

‘I hate this,’ he could hear Connor saying nearby, ‘why are we here when we could just be in a bar? No sane person comes here.’ 

‘We came here for Baby Boy Who Lived - you’re loving it, ain’t you, Baby?’ said Isaiah, clapping James’s shoulder. 

‘Er-’ 

‘We could’ve gone to the Blind Pig-’

‘I said I was happy to go there,’ James reminded him. ‘I just pointed out all the press would be there keen to get pictures of me misbehaving.’

James, who had over the years grown used to journalists eagerly trying to take photos of him and his siblings in positions where they could claim the Potter children were running wild, had found the American magical press annoying, but generally less obnoxious than the British. For his new colleagues, however, finding themselves in the pages of the New York Ghost, even just in the background of James at a Quadpot game, had been a shock. 

‘I thought I’d be excited,’ Rosa had said, frowning down at the image of her roaring a chant, covered in facepaint, ‘but they really didn’t get my best angle.’ 

‘They never do,’ James had yawned unconcernedly. ‘You should hear my brother’s partner complain about how they always catch him pulling a ridiculous face.’ 

Nevertheless, no matter how much he shrugged it off and told them all to just ignore it, their discomfort meant that when they believed things were likely to get messy, they stuck to the No-Maj areas. 

‘You’re lucky I vaguely like you, Baby Boy,’ said Connor. ‘No one else could get away with dragging me to Times Square on New Year’s Eve.’ 

‘Appreciate it all the same, mate,’ said James, who was then treated to a healthy round of teasing and impersonation for saying ‘mate’. 

Jennifer was pointing at one of the huge screens, showing a stage they were too far back to see, and a great roar had erupted from the crowd as someone James presumed was a famous muggle (no-maj, he corrected himself) waved at the crowd, her skimpy costume surely doing nothing against the cold. 

‘Finally,’ shouted Rosa, above the crowd singing along. ‘We’re getting going. Connor - get the drinks-’

From beneath Connor’s thick puffer jacket, he pulled out hipflasks - a few well-placed charms had ensured they would not be confiscated by muggles. 

‘Have you got gigglewater?’ asked James eagerly, and Isaiah burst into deep laughs. 

‘You love that stuff.’ 

‘It’s amazing, I’m gonna bring great vats of it home with me,’ said James. 

‘Oh, no, James, don’t remind me of that,’ said Jennifer, leaning forward and placing her head on his shoulder as she gave him a one armed hug. ‘We’ve only got three more months of your cute accent?’ 

‘Two and a bit - mid March,’ he told them. ‘You’ll get an extra golden day with me ‘cos it’s a leap year.’ 

‘Goddammit,’ said Connor, as he handed James the hipflask of gigglewater. ‘I want rid of you sooner.’

James only winked at him, and took a swig from the flask. The second after he swallowed the bubbly drink, a great swell of hilarity rose within him, and he laughed out loud as he passed the flask to Isaiah. 

The music and the crowds were loud, but there was barely room to dance - not, James realised, that he wanted to. It felt a world away from just over a year ago, when he had been pressed against Crispin and Dee and Hazel in the muggle club, when he had felt comfortable, even thrilled, to feel her touch. The American Aurors were far more physical than anyone he had known at home - they were always hugging and high-fiving and clapping one another on the back. He’d found it distinctly uncomfortable at first, especially from the girls, and he couldn’t pretend that he had entirely adjusted to it even after these past nine months, despite bonding with this little group rather well. 

So he drank and giggled and shouted above the noise at his new friends and tried to stop mentally calculating what time it was in the UK and wondering if Hazel had gone to bed yet, whether she’d been working or at a party, or staying in, whether or not she’d done her thing with the twelve raisins. 

Midnight crept steadily closer, and James’s sobriety crept steadily away. Though he missed Hazel and his friends and family back home like a stomach ache, he was certainly having fun, posing for selfies with his friends that he thought at the time he would send back to his family, but when he reviewed them later was horrified by. 

‘I heard the No-Majs have these special cameras where they can take the photos and loadup them so everyone you know sees them immediately,’ said Connor. 

‘That’s a fucking horrendous idea,’ said James. 

‘Right? Can you imagine?’

Someone was announcing something on a loudspeaker, and they were too far away to really understand what it was they were saying, but by the noise of the crowd James sensed that midnight was now very close. 

Jennifer tapped him on the shoulder, and stood up on her tiptoes to whisper (or rather shout, thanks to the noise) in his ear. ‘Rosa wants you to kiss her at midnight.’ 

He glanced awkwardly at her, and shook his head briefly, before taking another sip from his hipflask. 

Clearly thinking he hadn’t heard her, Jennifer repeated herself, a little louder, and he shook his head again, this time with an uneasy glance towards Rosa, who was laughing with Isaiah, thankfully out of earshot. ‘I’m doing a European tradition,’ he called back. ‘No kissing.’ 

‘Why not?’ she asked. ‘It’s just a fun New Year’s thing. She’s liked you for ages.’ 

‘I know,’ he said, drink fuelling more honesty than it should. ‘She’s very nice, but - no.’ 

‘Why?’ Jennifer pushed again. ‘You’ve got a few months left, could be a fun last minute fling-’

The magically-forced giggle from his drink made his shoulders shake before he answered her, though he felt utterly serious. ‘Got someone waiting for me.’ 

Her eyebrows raised, a bright beam across her face. ‘In England?’ At his nod, she embraced him again. ‘Aw! You didn’t say anything, Baby! Why? Who? Does-?’ 

‘Ah - ssh!’ he said drunkenly. ‘On the DL. Don’t - don’t tell anyone, but head off Rosa, please. I’ve been trying all year - I don’t want to upset her, but it’s not going to happen.’ 

‘Aight,’ she said, nodding her head fairly. 

‘Anyway, I really am doing something different,’ he said, and he reached into his pocket and pulled out a little bag, in which were twelve perfectly counted out raisins. ‘I’ll eat one for each stroke of midnight,’ he said to her. He glanced around. ‘Obviously you don’t have Big Ben but-’

‘Don’t worry, everyone will count down from ten,’ she assured him. 

‘Right, yeah, I guessed,’ he said. ‘But then once it’s midnight for each chime-’

‘Chime?’ she echoed. 

His response was lost; a ripple of shouts was starting, growing louder and firmer as the crowd noticed. The countdown was beginning. 

Jennifer raised her eyebrows, gave him a reassuring pat on the chest, and squeezed past him to Rosa, blocking her route to him - James did not risk a grateful look towards Jennifer, but reminded himself firmly to thank her later. 

Instead, he stood with Connor, shouting the countdown with the crowd around him, realising he would have to imagine the strokes of midnight in his head and guess how long he had to eat each raisin, as well as firmly remember the wishes he had spent the past month perfecting and practising. 

‘...Four… three… two…’ the crowd shouted. 

James opened the bag, and took the first raisin, ready. He stared intently up at the large screen showing the digital count down. 

‘One - HAPPY NEW YEAR!’ 

The sky erupted into a shower of coloured confetti, streaming down so he could see almost nothing else but the shimmering dance of it, the surge of noise like the deafening roar of a waterfall around him. Couples were kissing, people were throwing their arms up with glee, but for one moment, James was in his familiar old office, a cool glass of champagne in one hand, a handful of raisins in the other, Hazel at his side. 

He imagined the chime of home, and thought of his first wish as he raised the first raisin to his lips.


	38. Candle

The pub hummed and buzzed with the low, murmuring chatter of the patrons, blurring into a kind of white noise. Hazel’s dark eyes flicked repeatedly from the shimmering flame of the candle to the window beside her, though it was so fogged up she could only make out shifting shadows as people passed, their heads ducked as they did awkward little trots through the pouring rain. Any one of them could be him. 

Her heart was in her throat. She had been so worried about being late that she had turned up forty minutes early, twitchily guarding their usual table, nursing a gin and tonic and urging herself that nerves and boredom did not mean she should gulp it down. It felt strange thinking of it being their usual table, given how long it had been since they had sat here together, but it was, and now her nails scratched absent-mindedly into the grooves of the wood as she chewed on her lip and continued to glance anxiously around the pub. 

Dee hadn’t understood why she was nervous at all when she’d confessed at lunch that day. ‘It’s been ages,’ Hazel had said. 

‘So?’ 

‘So what if it’s just… fizzled out? Gone away? I’m sure absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder in every case.’ 

‘Has it for you?’ Dee had asked shrewdly, an eyebrow raised. 

‘Of course not. I think about him every day.’ 

‘Well then.’ 

Hazel reckoned it was all very well Dee saying that - confident, brash, take-no-prisoners Dee who knew perfectly well what she was worth and how lucky Crispin was that she gave him the time of day, but it wasn’t the same for Hazel. A cruel voice in the back of her mind had been repeatedly reminding her of another time she had been in this particular pub, and how she had been told that not many men would put up with her, that she was bonkers, that she always embarrassed herself. She felt her cheeks grow hot, even now, sitting alone in the little dark pub, and some how she didn’t think it was because the place was packed with muggles. 

She tried to pull herself together, to reason with that inner cruel voice, to say that she had exchanged letters with James for the past year, and at no point had she felt like he was pulling away, that he felt anything different to missing her desperately - there had been no hints that he had met some peppy, glamorous American witch. He still seemed quite content to come back to her. 

More than content, in fact. His final letter had told her the date he would be returning, and lamented (for several paragraphs) how frustrated he was that he was going to have to waste his time at a family welcome-home party rather than being able to go straight to her, but begging her to meet him the next day after work.

Not to your flat though, love, said the cruel voice, and she could almost see Mark’s smirking face saying it. Wants to meet you in public, doesn’t he? Probably to stop you making a scene. 

Shut up, she told the voice firmly, and she drank the last dribble of her gin and tonic. He’s being a gentleman about it. 

A woman at the other end of bar let out a shrieking peal of laughter at something, and it stuck out so much that Hazel glanced over without thinking at the gathered crowd there, distracted from her vigil. Idly she wondered what would have happened if that day when she was nine years old had never happened, if her magic hadn’t exploded out of her, whether she might have been one of these muggles in this same pub, throwing her head back with pealing laughter. Perhaps she still would have come back to the UK, or perhaps never left at all, and perhaps she would have bumped into James anyway, pulled together in some kind of sappy, written-in-the-stars kind of fate. He’d probably laugh his head off if she said that to him. She’d probably laugh her head off if he said it to her. 

‘Is this seat taken?’

The voice jolted her out of her silly daydreaming, and she looked up. 

There he was. Looking almost exactly as he had looked the last time she had seen him. Slightly damp from the rain, his eyes yearning as they drank her in, the constellation of freckles scattered across his face. But this time he was smiling - not his usual broad grin, but something softer, something more gentle. 

She took in a shuddering breath as she stared at him, and then as she released it rose without thinking and rushed so quickly to embrace him that she banged her thigh painfully on the corner of the table. She heard his slight laughter, but his arms were firm around her and she closed her eyes tight as she savoured it and heard the thud of his heart beneath his shirt. 

His face was pressed against the top of her head for a few moments, one hand raising to caress at her hair before moving down again to cup her face. He kissed her. 

After so long apart, could she really have forgotten how he kissed? The gentleness at first, his lips soft against hers, and then, reaching for more, the way he would pull her yet closer, so that her body would melt against his. He had this way of making her feel lost - no, not lost. Carefree. Gloriously light. Nothing mattered but him and the way he held her, and good God, he was really here with her, after so long, after so many lonely dreams and distant fantasies, he was finally here again and all was right with the world. 

A wolf whistle sounded, and at the following jeers they broke apart, grinning sheepishly at the amused muggles around them. 

They sat at their little table by the window, where so long ago they had kissed across it after vowing to keep it as friends, Hazel’s hair dangerously close to the candle flame, and they talked. She wondered if she seemed a little different now, because he did. Not in a bad way, it was simply that he seemed… older now, calmer, perhaps even taller, though there couldn’t have possibly been any real difference in height. His freckles were brown in the warm glow from the candle, his grin easy as he recounted his journey back and the party his parents had thrown for him, his eyes warm as he peppered her with questions about the gossip he had missed. 

‘Dee and Crispin are engaged,’ she told him. 

‘I knew it. Did he go with my idea?’ 

‘They went up to some fancy place his family owns in the north of Scotland, did it under the Northern Lights.’ 

‘Oh. No, that’s much better than what I suggested.’ 

‘What did you suggest?’ 

‘Well I’m not going to tell you now, ‘cos it’s stupid compared to what he did. Soppy git.’ 

She laughed, and tried to eek out of him what his suggestion had been, and they lightly made fun of their friends together. It was so easy to slip back into this, as though no time had passed at all, as natural and right as it had always been. Across the table, their hands linked, their fingers playing with one another, the slight roughness of his palms, the bumps of his knuckles, the slender nimbleness of his fingers.

She realised, now, how glad she was that they had met in public. That they could take the time to talk and remember one another. They had, it seemed, all the time in the world now. Gone was the hurried, secret lovemaking of before, where James had to manufacture an excuse for his absence from his family, where he had to be back within a couple of hours, stolen touches (for that was all they dared) on work socials or with friends. But without that pressure now she really could take the time to savour those little things, because if someone else from work happened to walk in what was the harm now, really? It was liberating. 

When the bell rang for last orders, there was no question about it. She did not ask him where he was expected to be or if he needed to get back or what he had told anyone. They simply wrapped up against the patterning rain, laughing about how it had been raining the evening he left too, ducked beneath his umbrella, and walked hand in hand back up Whitehall. In the rain, the pavements shone, the lights from the old buildings around them and the Trafalgar Square blurred into beauty, the surface of the fountains danced even more than usual under the raindrops. In his presence, everything was beautiful, even the old worn tiles of the steps down into Charing Cross underground station, where they squeezed onto a crowded tube train, the damp from everyone's coats steaming. 

James could not stop kissing her, could not stop touching her, the backs of his fingers stroking across her cheeks, the palms of his hands fitting neatly against her waist, his lips brushing against her lips, or against her forehead, pulling her closer than necessary. 

The world seemed full of possibility now. The anxieties and hurdles to their relationship, given time, were now amusing little obstacles that they whispered and sniggered over as the train swayed and jolted, playful plans to formally declare their relationship to the Head of the Auror Department next week now only an awkward thing to push through rather than a horrid prospect. Guessing people's reactions, imagining the gossip, speculating on the rumours and judgement they might face - it all now seemed like a great game, a background to the much more important task of gazing at one another, a minor inconvenience compared to the terrific excitement of loving one another. She was giddy with it. 

'You don't have to go back this evening, do you?' she asked. A clipped female voice was announcing that the train would terminate at the next stop.

'No,' he assured her, though he did not elaborate on where he had told his parents he would be. She found she didn’t care enough to worry about it. 

At her home, he loved her. Worshipped her. She lay with him like the flame of the candle that had separated them that evening, rippling and shuddering and burning. Their hands and lips continued their slow savouring of one another, delighting in the time, the luxury of it, they paused sometimes and stayed quite motionless, entwined and together, panting with eyes closed shut and their foreheads pressed together to stop themselves from burning too quickly, from sparking in glorious explosion, to stretch it out into a slow aching burn. She loved the ache, she wanted the ache. She wanted them to burn forever, to never leave this bed, while the world spun around them. The rain pattered against the clouded windows. Hazel’s head fell back as her lips opened in a cry she was not entirely conscious of, James’s lips at her throat, his hands pressed into the flesh of her hips. His hips moved slowly but determinedly against hers, their bodies remembering perfectly, her feet bending against his legs, both of them murmuring their love and how they had missed the other against hot skin. 

Afterwards, they lay beneath her white sheets, their hands still lazily caressing, their eyes still burning. 

‘Don’t go,’ she pleaded again. 

This time he stayed.


	39. The Dinner Party

She could have gone round to see him at Mum and Dad’s any time she wanted, there was something rather glamourous about arranging to meet him at a sophisticated bar like this. ‘Oh, tonight?’ she’d been able to casually say in the staff room at St Mungos that afternoon, ‘yes, I’m meeting my brother in a little muggle bar in Mayfair. He’s just got back from America, so we’re due a catch up.’ 

She quite enjoyed channelling her cousin Victoire at moments like this, because most of the time she rather embodied the standard Weasley sense of chaotic energy and scruffy-chic, so she made the most of feeling anonymous in muggle London by sitting in a very poised way with her cocktail, imagining she was French, and wishing she had one of those “fone” things that all the other people around her were staring at. She wouldn’t know what to do with one, but they seemed to set off the ‘don’t give a shit, I’m just naturally this elegant’ look quite well. With relaxed, jazzy sort of muggle music softly playing behind the murmuring of the other patrons, and the uncomfortable but stylish chairs, and the slight ache of her feet in the new heels she had hurriedly changed into at the end of her long shift, she really felt as though she was finally breaking free of the ‘baby of the family’ role and coming into her own.

Of course, she could always count on James not to play along. ‘It’s so wanky in here,’ he said, by way of a greeting as he arrived ten minutes late and plonked himself next to her. ‘Why couldn’t we have gone to a pub? Or home? We could have nicked some of Dad’s wine instead of paying out the nose for a thimble full of weird cocktails.’ 

‘Nice to see you too, after a year away.’ 

‘You saw me at the Burrow for my welcome home party last week.’ 

‘Well, excuse me for wanting to spend some quality time with my brother somewhere nice,’ she replied snottily, but they embraced all the same, and he didn’t even tease her when she initiated kissing one another on the cheek.

‘How’s the new place?’ he asked, after snorting at the cocktail menu and ordering an espresso martini. ‘You and Ro-Ro finally alone.’ 

‘So much better than being in a shared house, we should have done it years ago,’ she replied. ‘Not that I don’t like my friends,’ she added hastily. ‘It just feels more proper, you know? It’s a place of our own and we can pick all the furniture and have our routine and everything. Feels a bit more like we’re proper adults.’ 

‘Does it?’ he goaded, with a slightly wicked gleam in his eye. ‘A little birdy told me that Dad’s paying half your rent.’ 

‘Yeah, well, a trainee Healer’s salary doesn’t go far.’ 

‘Not in Maida Vale, no.’ 

‘All right, smart arse. Where’re you planning to move then? Or are you sticking to staying with Mum and Dad?’ 

She had expected this to embarrass him. His frequent moving in and out of their childhood home could always be counted on, by her and Al, to provoke him with, to see the tips of his ears burn red and watch, with great amusement, as he attempted to shrug it off. But instead he grinned, and tilted his head to the side in bashful acknowledgement. ‘I can accept that I’m getting a bit old for it.I’m looking for flats.’ He paused. ‘I think before I was always too… I never liked being on my own,’ he admitted. ‘But I just did a year of living alone in a foreign country, so I think I’ll manage now. Got some viewings coming up.’

‘Where’re you looking?’ she asked, her eyebrows raised. 

‘Maida Vale,’ he said promptly. 

‘Oh, sod off.’ 

‘I’m viewing the flat next door to yours tomorrow evening, I’ve got the deposit ready.’ 

‘You’re so annoying.’

‘Mum wants me close by to keep an eye on you and Ro-Ro, check you’re staying in separate rooms as you’re not married yet.’ 

‘Why do you continue even when it’s obvious no one believes you?’ 

He grinned. ‘Wouldn’t you want your favourite brother as a neighbour?’ 

‘I’d love Teddy as a neighbour, but Islington’s not really my vibe.’

‘Bollocks, of course it is. It’s not exactly edgy, is it, it’s not all that different to Maida Vale, just marginally less flowers and canals.’ 

‘Clearly you don’t know London,’ she teased. 

He continued to grin, then took a sip of his drink before continuing. ‘Yeah, actually I… I’m looking outside of London. Don’t worry. Not going to be anywhere near you and Ro-Ro.’ 

‘Outside of London? What, so you’d apparate to work?’ 

‘Yeah, why not? Or floo. Dad does.’ 

‘Yeah but…’ she glanced around the bar, gesturing vaguely. ‘When you’re young, before you’re married and settled with kids, you should make the most of being able to waste your money in London and have lots of fun. That’s what Uncle George says.’ 

‘Ahh,’ said James, ‘but of course Uncle Ron points out the value of saving and getting yourself some financial security. And, helpfully, as I’ve crashed from one disastrous relationship after another and ended up living with Mum and Dad so often, I’ve saved up enough for a proper deposit - not a rental one. A proper one. To buy.’ 

‘Oh,’ she said blinking. Suddenly her big brother seemed very grown up indeed. ‘Wow.’ 

‘Yeah.’ He looked faintly amused. ‘Plus, you know, I’m a few years older than you, I’ve done my having fun in London, spending Dad’s money in overpriced clubs and all that.’ 

‘Yes, I suppose,’ she said. She hesitated. ‘On your own though?’ 

He gave a great, melodramatic sigh. ‘I thought it would come to this. Look, Lily if you need to move in, I completely understand - never thought it would work between you and Ro-Ro anyway-’

‘Shut up,’ she said distractedly as he sniggered. ‘I just mean - I know Mum and Dad only spent a little time in London before they moved out to the country and stuff, but that was because - well, you know how Dad is and they’d been through enough and everything - and I just… there’s no rush, is there? I want to make sure you’re happy and not…’ 

‘Giving up?’ he suggested lightly. 

Now her ears were burning red - she could feel them hot underneath her hair. ‘I didn’t mean it like that, I only meant - you’re still really young, and-’

‘Lily,’ he said, surprisingly patiently, ‘it’s all right. You don’t have to worry about everyone all the time. I’m very happy.’ 

‘Are you?’ 

‘Course I am - back in blighty, aren’t I? Delighted to hear how much everyone missed me, I hope they never take me for granted again. If I start to sense people aren’t appreciating how sexy and funny I am all the time, I’ll fuck off for even longer somewhere. ’

‘How’s it been back at work?’ she asked. ‘Is everyone glad you’re back? I bet Dad is.’ 

‘Oh, I had a massively awkward meeting with him today,’ he said darkly. ‘Wish he’d hurry up and retire. But yeah, it’s all good. I was getting a bit sick of the open plan thing at MACUSA. They had a much better cafeteria though.’ 

‘Thought you were looking a bit tubby,’ she said, pinching his side, though he didn’t look any different at all.

‘Charming.’ 

‘Speaking of food-’

‘I’m not buying you any food here, Lily, it’s £6 for some plain flat bread, that’s over a galleon. Fucking London.’ 

‘Not here,’ she tutted, though she had secretly been hoping to bully him into buying her the £18 club sandwich. ‘Now that I’m nearly fully unpacked in my nice new flat, Rowan and I want to host a little dinner party on Saturday.’ 

James snorted. 

‘What?’ she demanded. 

‘I can’t believe you just gave me a little lecture on being young and having fun and not rushing into grown up things, and you’re throwing a dinner party like a smug married thirty year old.’ 

‘That’s different,’ she said, waving a dismissive hand. _It’s different because I’m hopelessly in love with Rowan and have had years of dreaming of our adult life together._ ‘Anyway, it’s just a little one - Ted and Vic, Al and Scorp. Just some nice fun without any old people around telling us about fighting trolls in bathrooms or reminiscing about people that died years ago or nagging Ted and Vic to get officially married. Just something really fun and casual and informal.’ 

‘You’re not setting me up with anyone are you?’ he said sharply. 

‘No,’ she replied, affronted. Though she now was kicking herself for not seizing the opportunity and inviting some nice Healer along. ‘It’s just been ages since we had all the Potter kids together. It’ll just be fun, just a really relaxed evening.’ 

‘Like I said, you all saw me last week, when I got back and we had a party at the Burrow.’ 

‘Yeah, but everyone else was there too so I barely got to see you. And I want to show off my new flat.’ 

‘Fair, I want to snoop around and point out all the things that are wrong with it.’ 

‘So you’ll come?’ 

‘Sure. I think I might be on the rota Saturday evening, but I can get Dad to change it or accidentally get a minor injury or something.’ 

‘OK, good,’ she said, beaming. ‘And by the way, we’re doing this fun thing where everyone makes and brings a course - you’re doing the starter.’ 

‘What?’ he yelped. ‘Lily! You can’t claim you’re hosting dinner if you’re making your guests bring their own food!’ 

‘It’s fun,’ she insisted. ‘I read about it in Witch Weekly. Don’t look like that, I deliberately gave you the starter course because it’s the easiest one. Then Al and Scorp are doing pudding ‘cos I reckon Scorp will pull off something extravagant, and Ted and Vic already know what they’re doing so they can do the main.’ 

‘Poor sods, they’ve got kids to look after, you know, they shouldn’t have to faff around with nonsense like that. What exactly are you and Rowan doing?’ 

‘Hosting and providing the booze. But please also bring a bottle.’ 

‘You really give off this “butter wouldn’t melt” air, but you’re like a kneazle, you know that? You should have been in Slytherin, not Al, you’ve got all the cunning.’

‘Be there at six, with a starter course,’ she said sternly. 

‘Fine,’ he said. He paused, fiddling with the base of his cocktail glass. ‘If everyone else is paired off… can I bring someone?’ 

She eyed him. ‘It’s not some ghastly American you haven’t told us about, is it?’ 

‘No.’

‘Well who then? You can’t be seeing someone already, you’ve only been back a week.’ 

‘Doesn’t take me long, Lils,’ he said, stretching arrogantly in his chair. ‘I have to have a constant shield charm up with all the witches throwing themselves at me, you know, it really is a burden sometimes.’ 

‘I mean it, who? Have Mum and Dad met them?’ 

‘Dad has,’ he said evasively. ‘So did Mum, very briefly though. They know about her. It’s… look, don’t make a big deal about it, all right? I just don’t fancy being the awkward seventh wheel.’ 

Lily, who had long learnt not to make a big deal over any of the witches James had introduced to the family over the years nodded, but couldn’t help being intrigued. ‘You don’t want to introduce her to the parents first?’ 

‘Told you,’ he said, quickly draining the last of his cocktail. ‘Dad’s met her. Anyway, you’re the one who said it was going to be a relaxed, informal evening, so someone tagging along shouldn’t be a big thing. She might not even be available or want to - don’t get your hopes up.’ He pushed his empty glass across the bar. ‘Right, d’you want to get some dinner?’ 

‘Yes,’ she said quickly, thinking once again about the club sandwich. 

‘Great. There’s a McDonald’s down the road, come on - I’m not staying in here, it’s disgustingly bougie.’ 

***

‘How on earth has he got himself another girlfriend already?’ Rowan asked, amazed. They were settling into bed, Lily hurriedly recounting her day to him as she fluffed up her pillow. ‘He’s been back, what, a week?’ 

‘No. Idea,’ she said, with great exasperation. ‘I wonder if maybe he got back together with Clara - perhaps the distance did them some good? I remember he was really down about her Christmas before last - you know, a few months after they broke up. And then it was only a couple of months later that he left. Maybe that’s why he wouldn’t tell me who it was - ‘cos he knows I don’t think she was right for him.’ 

‘You said that he said that your parents hadn’t met her,’ Rowan pointed out. 

‘Oh yeah. Well, he said Dad had. Maybe it’s someone from work - but surely not, the whole year in MACUSA was meant to be him really focusing on his career, why would he come back and jump into an office romance? That would cause all sorts of problems.’ She shuddered. ‘I’d never date anyone at work.’ 

‘Good?’ said Rowan, sounding rather amused. 

She rolled over onto her side to face him, grinning mischievously. ‘I mean it. If you became a Healer, I’d have to ditch you.’

‘What about if you became a broomstick designer?’ 

‘As long as we were at rival companies it’d be OK.’ 

‘Strongly depends which company - I’d never date anyone who works for Cosmic Brooms.’

‘Please. You know I have better taste than that.’ 

She knew James would be late on Saturday, but she didn’t mind, because it meant she could hurriedly gossip with the others about the mystery woman he was bringing. They gathered excitably in her new kitchen, and delved immediately into the mystery. ‘I’d have thought you’d be delighted, Lily,’ said Teddy, pouring himself a glass of wine, ‘meeting the new girlfriend before your parents. First dibs on gossip.’ 

‘We don’t know that it is a new girlfriend,’ said Al patiently. ‘Usually he waxes lyrical about them before introducing them - builds them up to be goddesses for weeks before dragging the poor girl to the Burrow. He might not have had anyone in mind at the time, he might have just genuinely not wanted to be the only one without a partner. Might just be a friend.’ 

‘That’s a very generous interpretation,’ said Scorpius. ‘What’s your angle?’ 

‘Trying to turn over a new, less bitchy leaf, I suppose.’ 

‘Well don’t, it’s very dull, what on earth will we talk about if we can’t bitch? There has to be more to it. He must think your parents will hate her for some reason.’ 

‘Death Eater child,’ blurted out Rowan, then he looked horrified at Scorpius. ‘No offence-’

‘I’m too excited by the prospect of the drama to take any offence,’ Scorpius assured him. ‘It would also be nice not to be the only awkward war reminder at Sunday lunches - in fact, maybe it’s one better. If your Dad’s met her, maybe it’s a straight up reformed Death Eater.’

‘They’re all really old!’ Vic spluttered, laughing. 

‘God, with a massive age gap too. Amazing. I’m going to be disappointed with anything else.’ 

‘Definitely one way to get back at the Chosen One,’ said Teddy mildly. ‘But I think you’ll be disappointed, Scorpius, James has proven to be quite principled in the past when it comes to girlfriends and unsavoury beliefs.’ 

‘A reformed one though,’ Scorpius emphasised.

‘Hmm.’

‘They exist!’

‘OK.’

‘I’m just saying, it would explain a lot.’ 

‘Would it, though? Even for James, that’s…’ Teddy winced. ‘That’s a lot of drama to bring. Plus how would he ever meet an ex-Death Eater-?’ 

‘Work!’ exclaimed Scorpius, and Lily could practically see the sparkling excitement in his eyes as he constructed the scene. ‘There he was, patrolling Azkaban, and there she was, gazing out at him through the bars, wishing she had made different choices-’

‘Ooh, yes,’ said Lily, buying into the tale at once, ‘finding redemption through love-’

‘Forbidden love at that, on so many levels - Merlin, can you imagine the tension-’

‘You’re both insane,’ said Al flatly. 

‘And seriously misguided on what Azkaban is like, I think,’ added Teddy, while Rowan and Vic roared with laughter. 

‘Well it’s got to be something dramatic!’ Lily insisted. ‘This is so out of character for him, I thought he’d have talked my ear off about whoever he’s smitten with and then introduced her to everyone at once, he’s being weirdly quiet about it all! It’s very worrying.’ 

‘You’re not worried, you’re just nosy,’ laughed Vic. 

‘I am very worried! Poor James, he deserves happiness.’

‘Such a shame it didn’t work out with Clara, I really thought they’d be a good match.’ 

‘Nah, you were way off,’ said Lily. ‘James likes to think he’s all cool and independent like her, but he’s a sensitive soul really, isn’t he? A big softie. She was too cool for him from the start, I could tell.’ 

‘What actually happened between them?’ asked Al. ‘The most I ever got out of him was they wanted different different things.’ 

‘Yeah, that’s all I got too,’ said Teddy. ‘From both of them - Clara also said something about James needing something she could never fulfill or something like that. I dunno.’

‘Probably constant attention and patience,’ said Al.

‘I never felt like she really gelled with the family,’ said Lily contemplatively. ‘He didn’t come to as many lunches and things when they were together and then when she was here I felt like she was always trying to hurry him to leave. I don’t think she felt very comfortable.’ 

‘I mean,’ said Rowan awkwardly, ‘you are a very intimidating family to come into.’ 

‘Yeah, hard agree,’ said Scorpius. 

Albus gave him a withering side glance. ‘You never struggled.’ 

‘That’s because I’m very charming.’ 

‘Energetic,’ Teddy corrected him. 

‘That’s a nice way of saying camp, Ted,’ said Scorpius appreciatively. 

‘I’m nothing if not extremely woke, Scorp,’ Teddy replied. 

‘You’re too old to be saying things like that, even if you have got blue hair, sorry.’

There was a thumping knock from the door. They all froze, then grinned excitedly at one another. ‘The Death Eater’s here,’ Scorpius whispered, and Al lightly smacked his arm. 

‘Everyone look casual,’ Lily commanded. They all immediately slumped into exaggerated casual poses, lounging over the counter tops, and she muttered ‘arseholes’ at them before hurrying to the door as they laughed. 

When she opened it, James thrust a bottle of wine at her with an unconcerned, ‘we said half six, right?’ 

‘No, we said six-’ she spluttered, ‘everyone’s already - you’re so - I - sorry, hi-’ She had just noticed the young woman standing beside her brother. 

She was about a head shorter than James, and so a head taller than Lily, with glossy dark hair and delicate features. ‘This is Hazel,’ James said easily. ‘Hazel, this is Lily, my favourite sister.’

This seemed to click slightly. Dozens of odd little stories from his work had featured a Hazel - this would certainly explain why Dad knew her - and while she may not be a Death Eater, an office relationship was scandalous enough to keep her interesting, especially given she was sure that James had promised not to date at work again. Hazel smiled - a little nervously, Lily thought - but they were both distracted by James peering round Lily into the hall. ‘This is fancy, Lily, does Dad know you could definitely get somewhere cheaper with his money?’ 

‘Shut up,’ she told him. ‘Come on, everyone’s already in the kitchen - no, don’t worry about shoes, it’s all hardwood floors-’

‘Ooh, hardwood, very posh,’ he teased, but she ignored him.

‘It’s so nice to meet you,’ she told Hazel, as she stood aside and let them past. 

'Thank you, you too, I've heard so much about you.' 

'I haven't heard anything about you, I'm very intrigued.' 

Hazel looked momentarily startled, but then laughed. Sensing her nervousness and responding instinctively, Lily linked arms with her as they made their way to the kitchen. 'I'll apologise in advance for all my brothers - clearly you can cope with the worst one, so you'll be fine, but don't be shy to tell the others to shut up too, they're all very annoying and strange. Just stick with me and Rowan, the only sensible ones, and you'll be fine.' 

There was a chorus of greetings from the others as James entered the kitchen first, briefly introduced Hazel, and ran through everyone's names. '...And of course you and Ted have met before,' he said finally, with an irritatingly mischievous smirk. 

'Have you?' asked Lily, looking at Teddy's rather pink face. 

'Very briefly when I dropped in at the office a couple of years ago,' Teddy said vaguely. 'It's good to see you again, Hazel.' 

'You too-' 

'Hazel still speaks French,' James said in a helpful sort of tone. 

Lily gave him a bewildered sort of look. 'Well that's impressive to hear, but Rowan and Scorp don't, so English only tonight, please.' 

'Right you are - hear that, Ted?' 

'Can I get you both some wine?' Teddy offered loudly, and at their agreement he turned to the cupboard to get more glasses. 

'James, did you bring the starter?' Lily remembered suddenly. 

'Yeah,' he replied unconcernedly, and from his pocket he pulled two objects which he set down on the counter with heavy thumps. It was two cans of cheap tomato soup. 

She stared at them. 'Are you fucking serious? I hate you so much.' 

'Just need to heat it up,' he said. 'Cheers, Ted,' he added, taking his glass of wine. 

'Brilliant,' said Scorpius dryly. 'Well I'm glad I made cassis and bay baked pears with blackberries and Madagascan vanilla ice cream for dessert.' 

'Oh, mate, I’m sure everyone would have been happy enough with a cheesecake,' said James. 'Shall we all go through and sit down? I'm starving.' 

'So I was right then,' Lily heard Teddy mutter to James as they all shuffled through to the living/dining room. 

'No you weren't, didn't ruin any careers,' she heard James mutter back. 

She wanted to eavesdrop further and figure out the context, but Hazel, her cheeks a dusky pink as she blushed, was speaking to her with an apologetic tone. 'I didn't know we were meant to bring anything - he didn't tell me.' 

Lily sighed. 'No, of course he didn't. Don't worry, I don't know why I didn't see it coming.’

‘He’s a bit of a wind up merchant.’

‘That’s one way of putting it.’

‘Little shit is another,’ chipped in Al, appearing on Hazel’s other side and taking a hearty swig from his wine. 

‘Whatever you’re saying about me, stop,’ said James, but they ignored him because Teddy had managed to spill his wine over her nice new tablecloth already. 

They sat to eat, Vic and Ted’s risotto praised far more heavily than James’s tinned tomato soup, which they bullied him ruthlessly for, though he continued to be entirely and infuriatingly unashamed. Wine flowed freely, and so the group, already featuring many loud and confident young people, grew louder still and more boisterous. Hazel, for her part, seemed initially content to sit and observe, laughing at the banter, listening with genuine interest to anecdotes and reminiscing, but apparently reluctant to drive the conversation herself (or perhaps, in hindsight, Lily supposed, simply unable to get a word in edgeways) aside from politely enquiring after Dora, who had apparently been with Teddy when they had met. As they discussed Dora and Celeste, Lily could not help but look over at her brother, watching his expression closely, concerned that she would see horror (or more likely but perhaps worse) undisguised excitement and longing. Instead, he seemed calm - almost relieved. Entirely relaxed as Vic and Ted took the opportunity to spout off some of James’s most irresponsible godfather moments for Hazel’s amusement.

However, as their inhibitions were lowered and the intrigue became too much, the friendly interrogation began. 

‘We were hoping you were a reformed Death Eater,’ said Scorpius. 

Hazel choked slightly on her wine. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘A reformed one,’ clarified Lily. ‘One who had seen the error of their ways.’ 

‘You two are so weird, why would you think that?’ asked James. 

‘There had to be some reason you were being evasive,’ said Al fairly. 

‘Just because I enroached on your usual territory of poorly kept secrets-’

‘Careful,’ said Scorpius. 

‘-Does not mean I would date a Death Eater, reformed or otherwise.’ 

‘They wouldn’t have me, anyway,’ said Hazel, who seemed very entertained. ‘I’m muggleborn.’ 

‘Interesting!’ said Lily, leaning forward. ‘Once I got to O.W.L level, Dad and Aunt Hermione couldn’t help me with much of my Muggle Studies anymore - they’d been out of the world too long and neither of them knew where to start with my social media essay, Dad said maybe his childhood hadn’t been that bad after all-’

‘Hang on, hang on,’ said Al, waving a dismissive hand, ‘before we get onto all that stuff, there’s more important facts to establish.’ 

‘Like what?’ asked James. 

‘You know what,’ said Victoire irritably. ‘How much more of my expensive wine do you have to drink before you give up the gossip? How did the pair of you get together while you were away? Love letters?’ 

James and Hazel exchanged a glance, both of them looking rather amused, both of them seemingly asking the permission of the other. Then, Hazel took a breath. ‘Er… no. No, we’ve been together since Christmas before last.’

There was a sudden, unusual silence. ‘Excuse me?’ spluttered Lily. 

‘Yeah,’ said James, scraping his spoon against his bowl. ‘Is there any more ice cream?’ 

‘But you haven’t even been dragged round to the Burrow or anything,’ said Al, gawping at Hazel. 

‘Yeah, everyone gets dragged round to the Burrow immediately,’ said Scorpius. ‘It’s the done thing.’ 

‘Well, sorry to you all but I’m different,’ said James. 

‘No you’re not!’ said several people at once. 

‘Fine, Hazel’s different.’ 

‘It was just a bit complicated because we work together,’ said Hazel soothingly. 

They went on to tell what Lily was sure was a whitewashed version of their relationship, because James kept smirking and making odd little comments that were clearly inside jokes. But as Hazel spoke, as her hands gestured and she was able to throw exasperated looks at James, Lily felt she seemed to almost be growing taller in her seat somehow. When she got going, Lily realised, she was bright and vivacious and rather excitable. They would have the most mental babies ever, she thought.

‘But don’t tell Dad,’ James finished casually. ‘We’re doing this thing where we’re pretending we only got together last week.’ 

‘Why?’ asked Lily. 

James shrugged. ‘Funny.’

‘I think the whole thing has driven him slightly mad,’ added Hazel. ‘He knows we’re lying about it.’ 

‘How come?’ 

‘He and Mum saw Hazel’s stride of pride,’ said James, and he may as well have dropped a erumpent horn in the middle of the room for the noise that exploded; incomprehensible shouts of shock, horror, laughter, glee, squeals of second hand embarrassment, Hazel now tipsy and confident enough to burn an embarrassed red but still laugh and loudly accuse James of making everything about that incident so much worse, and, eventually, Teddy morphing his face to try and establish an exact recreation of the scene. 

Towards the end of the evening, Lily managed to get James on his own. Hazel’s laugh could be heard from the living room, where Scorpius was drunkenly doing something ridiculous to entertain them all, but James had gone back into the kitchen to hunt for more wine. 

‘It’s all gone,’ she told him. He jumped, glancing over his shoulder. 

‘Bollocks,’ he said. ‘Get more in next time, all right?’ She didn’t answer, simply smiled at him and continued to stare, watching him grow more and more awkward until he finally muttered, ‘what?’ 

She rushed forwards and embraced him, swaying slightly on the spot. ‘Oh, James! Sweet Jimmy!’ 

‘Don’t call me that - get off - Merlin, you’re worse than Dad-’

‘You’re so in love!’ 

‘Yes,’ he said, a little defensively, and she squealed. 

‘Properly in love!’ 

‘Is that such a shock?’ 

She beamed up at him. ‘She’s wonderful, I really like her.’ 

‘Do you?’ he asked quietly. He was looking at her unusually seriously. 

‘Of course - not many people can handle this family. Or you, for that matter. She must be one of a kind.’ 

‘Very much so,’ he said, and he gave her a tight squeeze before breaking the hug. ‘I’m glad you approve.’ 

***

Too tipsy to apparate, and too nervous about the press to get the Knight Bus, James and Hazel got a muggle black cab back to hers. The weather was still miserable, as it had been ever since he got back, but London was sometimes more beautified this way, the traffic and street lights blurring, the gentle patter of water against glass, the precise, indescribable scent of rain on tarmac. 

They held hands across the seat, his thumb casually stroking against the soft skin of the back of her hand, for he could do that now, those easy, casual, achingly precious little gestures that had been so forbidden before. He looked over at her, the noise of the windscreen wipers like a strange little heartbeat, and in the orange glow of the streetlights outside he could see a strange expression on her face. Her eyes were glazed over, as though thinking deeply, with a slight crease between her eyebrows, but there was also a small smile playing about her lips. 

‘You all right?’ he asked her. 

Her voice was distant and soft, the tiredness, probably, but distinctly surprised. ‘I had a really nice evening,’ she said. 

‘Told you that you would,’ he replied. ‘You never get any awkward silences with that lot.’ 

She looked at him, and beamed. ‘That’s where you get it from, then,’ she said, and before he could respond with some cocky joke, she had leaned over and kissed him. 

Of course she had enjoyed herself, he thought, closing his eyes at the feel of her lips. Of course they had loved her and she had loved them. For there to be love, there had to be understanding - and his family could understand why he loved her as much as she could understand why they were so important to him.


	40. Living It Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for my mum, who never did live it down.

The night before his birthday, she was struck with nerves. She had been fine in the week or so leading up to it, reassured by the fun she had had at the dinner party and the warm welcome his siblings had offered. The fact that they were going to be there too was soothing as well, because now she knew them and it took the pressure off socialising with her boss and meeting an entire new person (who, despite James’s denial, Hazel was sure was the person whose opinion mattered most). She had even, at times, looked forward to it, keen to see the places James talked so fondly of and meet his mother properly, rather than creeping out of the house in the morning. 

But the nerves started at James’s birthday drinks earlier that Friday evening. One minute she was laughing with James as he teased Cripsin, promising to give his mother Crispin’s love and admiration, the next her imagination had gone haywire, constructing various scenes of awkward silences and exchanged glances and pursed lips as Crispin playfully begged James not to say anything because, ‘your mum is really scary.’ 

‘I mean, how many journalists has she hexed in her lifetime?’ 

‘She punched one once, as well,’ James said. ‘But it’s only when she finds someone really obnoxious.’ 

_Oh, God, what if I’m obnoxious?_ Hazel thought. 

As soon as the thought came, she sent it away again, firmly telling herself that it was ridiculous to assume she would be hexed or punched. It wasn’t like Ginny Potter was an out of control thug, by all accounts the journalists could be particularly aggressive and aggravating themselves, that’s why James’s birthday was going to be so low key. 

But while she was able to control herself from that particularly ridiculous worry, it was too late to entirely soothe the ball of anxiety that had knotted in her stomach. 

James was there to carefully placate every worry she managed to conjure from thin air. 'I don't have any proper walking shoes,' she blurted out as they were drifting off to sleep a few days before. 'Should I buy some? How muddy is it likely to be? Because I remember you telling me about your brother falling over in the mud and I know it hasn't been raining much lately but it's still been a bit damp and it might still be - do I even have time to buy some? What time are we leaving again? I'd have to get some Muggle money-'

'What size are you?' he mumbled into the pillow. 

'Seven.' 

'Tha's 'bout the same as Lily, there's prob'ly some spare wellies there.' Then he yawned, and rolled over. 'You're not getting out of it that easily,' he told her. 

She continued to stare at the ceiling for a few minutes, wondering whether it was silly to worry about borrowing wellies from his family, before accepting it was and joining him in sleep. 

In the morning, she gave him his gift (a new jacket, and a bottle of wine from Douro) and they had lazy sex, the duvet pushed off the bed onto the floor, the spring sunlight falling in shards across the bed, cheesy music still playing on the wireless. 

‘Last chance to get all your nerves out,’ he said afterwards, watching her return from the bathroom as he lounged, naked on the bed. ‘Is there anything else I can say to convince you that you’ll enjoy it?’ 

‘Yes - what if I can’t think of anything to talk about except work?’

‘Quidditch,’ he said promptly. 

‘I don’t know enough about Quidditch.’ 

‘That’s absolute rubbish and you know it, you love the Wimbourne Wasps.’ 

‘I hate the Wasps!’ she shrieked immediately as he laughed. ‘They coast along on success they had decades ago and refuse to move on from the same play strategies-’

‘You fall for that every time,’ he said admiringly. 

‘Fine, OK, Quidditch, what else can I talk about?’ 

‘How about the last time you were in the house? You could talk about that.’ 

‘No.’ 

‘OK, what about the bum wars?’ 

‘I told you not to call it that and also I’m not playing.’ 

‘That’s because you’re losing.’ 

She was indeed losing at the competition he had goaded her into: sneaking up on one another and pinching them on the bottom. James was winning not because he was better at sneaking up on her and taking her by surprise, but because he was more willing to compete in daring locations, like the office. Either way, she strongly felt that even if she were winning, she would be unlikely to discuss it with his parents. 

‘Come on, what else? What do your parents like?’ 

‘I dunno, they’re really boring, I never pay attention. Look, don’t worry about it, my mum can talk to anyone - her and Lily never shut up.’ 

Just after noon, they apparated to a narrow country lane in Devon. Just ahead, past hedgerows bursting with the green of spring, Hazel could see a charming stone farmhouse, with large windows and attractive ivy crawling up the stone work to form an arch over the blue front door. It was the picture of countryside idyll, set among dramatic hills with the faint bleating of sheep coming from somewhere close by. On the wooden gate that closed off the drive was a sign saying ‘Sparrow Cottage’. 

She had been here before, of course, but it had been dark and she had been drunk when she arrived, and when she'd left she'd hurried away so fast that she hadn't dared look back. As James pulled back the gate to let them onto the drive, she had vague memories of walking up the flagstone path beneath the sprawling branches of the crab apple tree - though of course last time the branches had been brown and bare, rather than exploding with white blossom as it was today. 

The front door had a gleaming brass knocker in the centre; she could see her distorted reflection in it as she stood with James on the doorstep. From inside, she could hear Lily's loud shouting, half laughter, and see brief movement through the kitchen window that she thought must be Al. 

Rather than knock, James leant down, pushed open the letterbox, and yelled through it. 'Let us in! Hello! Oil!'

'James!' she hissed at him as he straightened up. 

He ignored her, and just as they heard the latch of the door as it opened, she felt a sharp pinch on her bum. ‘Another point to me’ he muttered smugly. 

She didn’t have time to glare at him, as the door opened to reveal Al; he was the spitting image of Auror Potter in history textbooks. ‘All right? Happy birthday.’ 

‘Cheers, where’s my present?’ 

‘My presence is your present - can’t believe the pair of you wriggled out of getting dragged to the Burrow…’ 

‘Give it time,’ replied James darkly, but there was a shout of delight, and Al was pulled aside as a short, red-haired woman appeared at the door, beaming. 

‘James! Happy birthday, my sweetheart!’

‘Mum-’ James leant down to embrace her and Hazel heard him grunt and laugh as she squeezed him tight around the ribs. 

‘My lovely boy, you’re getting so old - and you must be Hazel.’ 

The tone was suddenly sharper, more alert, but still friendly as Ginny Potter released her son and smiled curiously at Hazel. 

‘You know it’s Hazel,’ said James helpfully. ‘You’ve met before, do you remember? When-’

‘Be quiet, you - don’t you listen to him, Hazel, come in, come in-’

She was pulled into the house which was every bit as elegantly rustic as it had appeared from outside, and bursting with noise and movement. Auror Potter greeted her from the table, where he was setting down a dish of roast potatoes, followed up by Scorpius who was assisting with a gravy boat. Two young girls came running into the room, shrieking with laughter - they stopped the moment they saw Hazel and ducked shyly behind Vic, who looked just as glamorous as she had been at Lily’s dinner party. 

‘You already know Dora, and that’s Céleste,’ Teddy said. ‘Girls, say hello.’ 

The girls were spared from being forced to greet Hazel by more hurried footsteps coming into the kitchen. They had been being chased by a breathless Lily, who shrieked something unintelligible and pulled both James and Hazel into tight, welcoming hugs. 

‘It’s lovely to see you again,’ Hazel said politely into Lily’s messy hair as she hugged her. 

‘You’ll sit next to me, won’t you? James, can she sit next to me?’ 

‘She’s not a pet, Lils.’ 

But Lily wasn’t listening, she was pulling Hazel over to the table, and bellowing over her shoulder for Rowan. 

‘Oh, Birch is here too?’ asked James innocently, taking a seat himself. 

‘You can’t do that joke anymore, you’re dating a tree as well.’ 

‘Yes I can, it’s just that you can now call Hazel acacia or something - hi, Sycamore.’

Rowan joined them, ignoring his change of name and beaming at them all, wishing James a happy birthday and pulling a silly face at a giggling Dora.

It was not at all what Hazel had been expecting, though she wasn’t sure what exactly she had been imagining. Maybe a formal line up where they all shook hands and she had one-on-one conversations with all of them. But they were such a large, noisy family that any attempt at that would have failed within a nanosecond, each person overlapping the next. They reminded her of a hive of bees, or perhaps a murmur of sparrows, given the house name, so many little individual interactions coming together, at once overwhelming yet also perfectly clear, the family taking their seats without being called. It helped - there was no one under the spotlight, it was impossible for the focus to be entirely on her, no room for awkward silences. 

Mrs Potter sat opposite Hazel, promptly insisting on ‘Ginny’ and peppering Hazel with questions about Portugal, flattering her and teasing her son, delighting in learning that she was muggleborn - Hazel liked her very much. She remembered once noticing the similarities between James and his father, but sitting opposite Mrs Potter it was plain to see he took after her much more. Not only did they have the same colour eyes, but there was something around the shape of their eyes and face that struck Hazel as very similar, not to mention the scattering of freckles. Even the inflections in the way they spoke - there was an inherent sense of fun to their mannerisms, an innate cheekiness. Hazel was almost certain that Ginny Potter would be just as good at impersonations and teasing banter as James. She also resisted mentioning “the incident”, to the point that Hazel would have quite believed she didn’t recognise her at all, if it weren’t for the fact that she was clearly sharp witted.

‘Tell me about Beauxbatons,’ she asked Hazel, ‘my sister in law - Vic’s mum-’ she jerked her head towards Vic at the other end of the table, who was deeply engrossed in an animated conversation with her daughter, ‘she went there and she said all the lessons are in French. I asked how that works for pupils from other countries but she just shrugged and said they learn… which is very much a Fleur thing to say,’ she added in a low voice. 

‘They offer an intensive language course before you start,’ said Hazel. ‘Through August and again at Christmas if you still need it, though I was quite surprised at how quickly I learnt. Perhaps because I was already bilingual though, it’s easier to learn then.’

‘Oh, of course, Portugese! Beautiful language, I’d love to go one day - I’ve been to Brazil a few times for Quidditch.’ 

‘I was offered a place at Castelobruxo as well, but I didn’t take them up. Mum thought it would be better because I wouldn’t have to learn another language, but Dad thought it was too far away. I also got a letter from Hogwarts but neither of my parents wanted me to go back to the UK.’

‘What?’ said James, astonished. ‘How come I didn’t get a chance to go somewhere other than Hogwarts?’ 

‘Why would you want to?’ asked Auror Potter, but Mrs Potter snorted. 

‘James, the moment we announced your birth the owls came flooding in from what must be every magical school in the world - even those tiny unofficial ones. Everyone wanted us to put your name down, but we knew it was down for Hogwarts and that was that.’ 

‘Hogwarts is the best one,’ said Auror Potter. 

‘Auntie Fleur reckons-’

‘Auntie Fleur reckons a lot of things, yes,’ said Mrs Potter swiftly. ‘She still sent her children to Hogwarts.’ 

‘Not Louis,’ piped up Lily helpfully. 

‘He went to Beauxbatons for an exchange for one year, that’s nothing - Hazel, wouldn’t you have-’

‘She won’t help your argument, Mum, she’s always saying Beauxbatons is better-’

‘Well, I’m sure different schools are better for different children,’ Hazel said diplomatically.

‘You’re being very polite, Hazel, but please speak freely - I need to practice the argument to defeat my sister in law.’ 

Hazel laughed, and found herself astonishingly comfortable engaging in the friendly debate Mrs Potter had forced her into, not to mention amused by the family dynamic they had welcomed her so fully into. 

The food, too, was delicious - James’s favourite of a Sunday roast, though it was not, as Dora pointed out with great confusion, a Sunday. Crisp roast potatoes, minted lamb (except for Lily, who had a nut roast), fluffy yorkshire puddings, honey glazed carrots, green beans cooked with garlic, and thick homemade gravy. 

Eventually Auror Potter pleaded with them to stop bickering and accept that Hogwarts was the best (at this point Mrs Potter claimed she had been swayed, with a conspiratorial wink at Hazel), and Dora and Celeste, almost unintelligible through their giggles, stood to perform a birthday play for James. 

‘Beautiful,’ he told them, as Dora made a fart noise against the crook of her arm. ‘Stupendous. What an intriguing plot.’ 

This seemed to make the girls laugh louder - Hazel found it quite infectious, as, apparently, did everyone else around the table. She felt warm. The children were still too shy to speak directly to her, but she spotted them grinning and glancing at her out of the corner of their eyes, checking her reaction, and she was quite happy to be honestly amused and enchanted by them. 

As she joined in with the round of applause for them, she wondered, briefly, if she and James would ever have children. She knew she liked kids, she had enough little cousins, nieces and nephews herself, but yet they still always seemed so foreign to her. The thought of herself holding a baby was at once thrilling and bizarre. 

‘All right, girls,’ said Teddy authoritatively, ignoring Lily, Scorpius and James all calling for an encore, despite the play descending into fart noises and giggles only, ‘very good. Why don’t you help with Uncle Jim’s cake?’ 

‘Jim?’ Hazel asked, slyly and quietly as the girls squealed and rushed to follow Mrs Potter to get the cake. 

‘Pretend you never heard it, please.’ 

‘Sure thing, Jim.’ 

‘Nope.’ 

‘Oh! You teasing him about the Jim thing?’ said Al eagerly, leaning across Scorpius to grin gleefully at the pair of them. ‘He went through a few years of wanting to be “Jimbie'' you know.’ 

‘It’s my birthday, can you please shut the fu-’

Auror Potter coughed loudly to disguise the rest of James’s sentence, and a spectacular chocolate cake was set before him, covered in candles. 

‘Nana made this, didn’t she?’ 

‘No! I made it myself!’ insisted Mrs Potter. 

They sang, and Dora savagely popped up from seemingly nowhere to blow out his many candles for him, and with plenty of noise and complaining about how full they were, they all rose to get ready for the country walk to the pub James had always told her about. 

‘Oh - I’ll need to find Hazel some wellies that fit-’ James was telling his father distractedly.

‘There’s dozens in the cupboard under the stairs, it’ll be finding matching ones that’s the challenge-’ 

‘Quick, Hazel,’ whispered Mrs Potter swiftly, ‘before he notices.’ She jerked her head and gestured with her hand. Hazel followed; they went back through the large hall with the stairs that she had once failed to creep down, and into the living room, where Mrs Potter promptly pointed out the many photographs that adorned the walls and sat in frames on every surface. ‘He’ll be furious with me for showing you these, but he should learn to accept the inevitable.’ 

Hazel had often accused James of being spoilt, and she had often imagined him as a pampered little prince. It was clear from the photos that he had certainly had a very happy childhood, though it was impossible for her to feel resentful or jealous or even smug that she had been right and he had been spoiled. A cheeky, freckle-faced young James swung upside down by his knees on the branch of a tree, his arms swinging wildly. There in another photo, he sat on the shoulders of a much younger Auror Potter, clearly pulling his hair. There were several of him holding his new siblings, Auror Potter’s arms coming into shot to support. In the album that Mrs Potter pulled down from the bookshelf, there were photos of him covered in bubbles, sitting in a bath next to a chubby baby she assumed was Al. An entire page was filled with photos of September the first through the years; she could see his transformation from an excitable young child with a perfect uniform and cheeky smile to a taller young man closer to how he was today, grinning broadly in front of a scarlet train. Earlier photos still, of a chubby, dark haired baby, freckle-free, photographed from every angle in the arms of his beaming parents, or sleeping next to them, his legs constantly kicking.

‘He was such a funny little baby,’ Mrs Potter said. ‘So expressive, although he didn’t have eyebrows for ages - you see? And constantly moving, he’d be flat out asleep but still wriggling around everywhere.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me at all.’ 

Mrs Potter looked at her closely, a small smile playing about her lips. ‘No, I don’t expect it would.’

There was a joyful-sounding shout from outside, and they both looked automatically to the window to see the family gathering in the front garden, still pulling on coats, Teddy swinging Dora around by her arms. 

‘Looks like we’re ready to go - I’ll put these away, James should have found you some wellies by now.’ 

Hazel nodded, and with one last smile down at the photos of baby James, she went cheerfully back into the hall.

She could see James rifling through the cupboard under the stairs, shifting through piles of wellies and bottles of cleaning products and stray gloves, his tight little bum just sticking out of the door as he bent over. 

Inspired by a rash burst of confidence that everything seemed to be going so well, she grinned wickedly and silently crept over. 

‘Going all right, isn’t it?’ she said, as she reached out and pinched his bum. 

James seemed to stiffen, and straightened ever so slightly. ‘Hello?’ he said, in an amused voice that was not his own. 

Her hands clapped, horrified, to her mouth at once, though her deep gasp was still noticeably loud. James’s father, her boss, perhaps the most famous living wizard in the world, was straightening up and turning to look at her. He still seemed very much amused, but there was still a pink tone around his cheeks, though surely it was nowhere near the deep red that her face must have gone. 

‘I am so sorry-’ she blurted out, her voice far higher and louder than she intended. She could hear a roar of laughter somewhere behind her, but she was still too fixated on the horror in front. ‘I thought you were-’

‘Very best compliment you could give me, Hazel,’ said Auror Potter, inclining his head, his shoulders shaking with laughter. 

‘I really didn’t-’

‘It’s quite all right-’

There was a rushing sort of sound in Hazel’s head - before she knew it she was backing away, her whole face hot and no doubt flushed red, her chest tight and her stomach knotted. She could not stand the thought of seeing anyone else, of going outside to join them all where they would take one look at her and know instantly - against her better judgement (and for years to come she wondered regretfully why she chose this option), she found herself hurrying upstairs and along the corridor to what she knew was James’s room. 

Inside, she sat on the edge of the bed, hyperventilating, a strange kind of awful surrealness swirling around her as she came to terms with what she had just done. 

Good lord, it wasn’t as though they were that similar! Hadn’t she been musing, not hours before, how much he took after his mother? How could she have mixed them up? What had she been thinking? You couldn’t identify someone from their backside and a quick glimpse at the back of their head. 

‘Fuck,’ she muttered, leaning forward and buryind her face in her hands. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re so stupid, so fucking stupid, fuck…’

There was a gentle knock on the door, and though Hazel did not answer, it creaked open anyway. She peered through her fingers to see James slipping in, clearly trying very hard not to smile. ‘All right, Haze?’ he asked. 

‘No,’ she moaned quietly, and she felt another stab of embarrassment as James’s shoulders shook with restrained laughter in the same way Auror Potter’s did. 

‘There are better ways to get promoted, you know.’ 

She groaned again and flopped back onto his bed, her hands still rubbing at her scrunched up face. ‘Stop!’ 

‘I’m sorry! I couldn’t resist-’ 

‘It’s awful-’

‘It’s all right-’

‘It’s not!’

‘Why don’t you come down and we’ll-’

‘I’m not going back down there!’ she hissed, finally looking at him directly. ‘I don’t think I can ever look him in the face again!’ 

He was smiling affectionately at her - to her frustration, he clearly found the whole thing very endearing. ‘Yeah? A year’s secondment at MACUSA for you, is it?’ 

She ignored him; she rolled over and pressed her face into the duvet, vaguely noting that the last time she had been on this bed she had ended up feeling humiliated too. She heard a creak and a slight decompression of the old mattress as James sat beside her, but she did not rise or move or give any indication that she had acknowledged his presence at all. Quite simply, she wanted to be swallowed up by the bed to never be seen again in a tragic but well-timed freak accident. 

‘It’s not that-’

‘Don’t you dare, it is that bad, I want to die,’ she growled. 

She could definitely hear the laughter in his voice now. ‘It sounds hilarious, you’re just unlucky Al saw, or Dad definitely would have kept quiet for you. “Hello”,’ he mimicked with devastating accuracy. ‘Amazing.’ 

She half-groaned, half-squeaked into the bed. ‘Everyone knows, then?’

‘Yeah,’ he said apologetically. ‘But honestly, Haze, you’ve made everyone’s day.’

‘Yeah, I bet I have,’ she muttered. 

‘You’re not really part of this family unless you’re getting a little bit bullied - and anyway, Dad’s getting the worst of it.’ 

She rolled over, and winced up at him. ‘Is he?’ 

‘Yeah, but I reckon he’s secretly delighted - getting mistaken for me is quite a compliment.’ He frowned. ‘You did mistake him for me, didn’t you? You don’t fancy-’

‘Oh shut up!’ she squealed, rolling back over to bury her face once more while he laughed. She felt him rubbing her back soothingly. 

‘Come on,’ he said, with warm exasperation. ‘You’ll live.’

‘I can’t, tell them I’m ill and I have to go home.’ 

‘Yeah, ‘cos that’s not see through.’ 

‘I just want to run away,’ she moaned. ‘I want to go home and quietly die.’ 

She felt his hand pause slightly. ‘Don’t,’ he said, and on the surface the tone sounded as light and teasing as everything else he had said since he came in, but she could almost taste a pleading sort of edge to it. ‘Don’t go home.’

Once more, she rolled back over and looked at him. His expression was very familiar; that cocky grin with a hint of unease, the slight sink of his shoulders. 

‘Well of course I’m not going to,’ she told him. ‘But I’m never going to live this down, am I?’ 

‘No,’ he replied cheerfully.

‘Well - so - what am I supposed to-’ she spluttered helplessly, waving her hands vaguely. 

‘Lean into it,’ he advised stupidly. ‘Give him saucy winks and tell him you prefer an older gent.’ 

‘I mean it, shut up.’ 

‘I mean it! Wolf whistle whenever he passes.’ 

‘Look,’ she said, in a business-like manner as she sat up, ‘a certain type of girl could pull that off, but not me.’ 

‘Course you could.’ 

‘No, I couldn’t! I’d just come off creepy and weird and trying too hard, there’s no sense in me pretending I have that kind of…’ she gestured vaguely again. 

‘Confidence?’ he suggested lightly. 

‘Cheek,’ she corrected. 

‘You do have a lot of cheek. I heard you got a big handful of it about ten minutes ago-’

‘I swear to God, James, no court would convict me if I murdered you right now.’ 

He laughed again, rose from the bed, and held out a hand to help her up. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Get it over with. They’re not a bad lot - consider it a sign they like you enough to bully.’ 

She scrunched her face up once more in dread, but took his hand and allowed herself to be pulled up and into a hug. James looked fondly down at her. ‘Take it all on the chin and accept it’s something I will continue to bring up when we’re sitting in St Oswald’s retirement home together.’ 

‘Going to be together that long, are we?’ she said teasingly. 

‘Depends how tolerant you are of me bringing up that you hit on my dad, I suppose.’ She merely shot him a look of annoyance, and he leaned forward, and kissed her on the forehead. ‘Be brave?’ 

‘It can’t get any worse, I suppose,’ she muttered. 

Feeling a little as though she were walking to the gallows, she allowed James to lead her back downstairs to the hall, where, firmly not looking at the cupboard under the stairs, she pulled on her coat and a spare pair of wellington boots. As they walked through the door and out into the garden, the rest of the Potter applauded and wolf whistled. 

Despite her face glowing hot once again, and how she couldn’t stop giggling nervously as James wrapped his arm around her and gave her a little bracing shake, it occurred to Hazel that she was still… there. Living. That James’s family seemed to still like her, possibly more as they launched into teasing both her and Auror Potter, and then bringing up embarrassing moments of their own, Teddy loudly suggesting that he could be left alone now. 

They tramped across the stunning Devon countryside, Hazel in her borrowed wellies, hand in hand. Her mortification very much remained but, as she told James quietly when they reached the quaint little pub, she couldn’t have humiliated herself to a nicer bunch of people.


	41. Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: This chapter contains discussion (but not description or detail) of childhood sexual abuse. The story will still make sense for any who wish to skip it.

The sky above them was a bright, vivid blue. Surrounded by the scent of lavender and with the sun falling hot upon them, they lounged on the edges of the stone fountains, trailing their fingers in the cool water, feeling the mist from the spray settle, dew like, on their skin. 

It was an unusually hot day, though the weather was usually warm at Beauxbatons anyway. The elegant white marble and blue spires of the school seemed to gleam over the perfectly landscaped grounds, the courtyards and lawns scattered with pupils making the most of their long lunch break.

The girls had rolled up their floaty blue uniforms, in part to cool down, but, Hazel thought, also so the boys that lounged on the square lawns between the perfectly shaped hedgerows could properly admire them. She was the only one that did not glance over every few minutes, to see who’s eyes might be trailing up her tanning legs, and to giggle and whisper to friends if they spotted a boy staring. This was not out of any kind of prudishness or lack of interest - indeed, she very much hoped that Felix might be looking, but she knew full well that if she glanced over to him he would probably be watching Isabel instead.

So rather than bring her hopes to a crushing end, she continued staring up at the vast sky, listening to the music of the fountains and the chatter of her friends. Jeanette had received her monthly delivery of a glossy magazine, full of advertisements for couture clothes none of them would ever wear and interviews with people they would never meet. She sat with her back against the fountain and her legs stretched out, browsing it leisurely, occasionally exclaiming and gathering the others to look, or pass it around. 

They all tried to be wise and respectful when looking at the photos from the Battle of Hogwarts twentieth anniversary memorial, somberly agreeing how awful it must have been and what an extraordinary moment in history it was, but in reality none of them knew very much about it aside from the miracle of The Survivor and that he had defeated Lord Voldemort, so as teenage girls do they resorted to evaluating the outfits of the witches and the attractiveness of the wizards. 

Hazel propped herself up on one elbow to look down over Jeanette’s shoulder. She could see a photograph of a gathered, solemn crowd at the memorial site, and then, on the other page, a closer photograph of The Survivor laying a wreath, his family standing somberly alongside. 

‘The Survivor is still very attractive,’ judged Jeanette after some consideration. ‘But I wish he would get rid of those horrible glasses.’ 

‘He probably needs them to see, Jeanie,’ said Claudia snidely, and the others laughed. 

‘He doesn’t need ugly ones like that though! He could get ones that fit his face shape better.’

‘Muggles have contact lenses so you don’t need glasses at all,’ said Hazel, and she explained what they were until the others lost interest and she was forced to trail off into silence. 

‘None of his children need them, so that’s good,’ said Isabel, with an air of someone who had not been listening. ‘The eldest is only a year younger than us, I think he’s starting to become quite good looking.’ 

‘With all those freckles? Ugh, no.’

‘Agreed - a few I don’t mind, but they’re right across his face, such a shame. On a woman it’s OK. The other brother is too young, I can’t tell if he’ll be handsome or not yet.’

‘He looks very similar to The Survivor, I think he might be, eventually, especially if he never needs glasses. Oh! I like the wife’s dress - what’s her name again? She was a Quidditch player.’ 

‘Virginia Potter?’ 

‘It will say in the article somewhere-’

‘No - something else - Felix!’ Isabel called, and Hazel’s heart fluttered a little as he looked over, his chestnut hair flopping in front of his eyes. ‘What is the name of that old British Quidditch player? The one married to Harry Potter?’ 

‘Ginny Weasley!’ he called back excitedly. ‘She was a chaser - brilliant - and now she writes about-’

‘OK, thank you,’ Isabel shouted back carelessly, and Hazel made a note to learn more about Quidditch as Felix blushed and turned quickly back to his friends. The rest of her friends had returned to the magazine too, and Jeanette was now reading aloud from it. 

‘Yes, he’s right, look - “Ginny Potter, 36, declined to give comment but laid her own wreath for her brother Fred, who was among the fallen fifty. She wore a Twilfitt and Tattings lace dress”-’

‘That is a beautiful dress-’

‘No way! It ages her, the shape is good but the lace is too old fashioned-’

‘Well, what do you expect from a brand like Twilfitt and Tattings?’

Hazel tried to keep up - she liked looking at the outfits too, but she had never been very good at grasping the unwritten rules of fashion, like the subtle difference between timeless classics and old fashioned, something her friends firmly told her was because she wasn’t French.

My God!’ said Claudia, pulling the magazine closer to her, ‘look at this - “the youngest Potter child, Lily Potter, 10, was recently reported to have started to display signs of magic, securing her a place at Hogwarts next year” - ten is a bit old, isn’t it?’ 

‘Yes, very old,’ said Jeanette, sounding rather appalled. ‘They must have been worried, no?’ 

‘When did you all first show magic?’ asked Hazel curiously, who was rather surprised by how appalled they all were. 

‘I was just a baby,’ said Jeanette smugly. ‘Maman says that I rocked my own bassinet in my sleep.’ 

‘I didn’t show any signs until I was nearly seven,’ said Isabel, a little resentfully. ‘Everyone was getting worried that I might not be magical at all, and I spent hours trying to force it - staring at things to try and make them float, you know. But then finally I had to be a flower girl at a wedding, and the bride put me in this hideous babyish dress. I felt so embarrassed that I refused to go down the aisle and when my parents tried to force me the dress changed colour.’ 

‘What to?’ asked Claudia. 

‘From lilac to black,’ said Isabel proudly. ‘Much more elegant. 'Still, embarrassingly late, my brothers used to tease me horribly about it.’

‘Seven isn’t that late,’ said Claudia. ‘It’s not like you were ten… can you imagine? They must have nearly given up. Perhaps she’s only just turned ten, but even so...’ 

‘Most kids show it by seven, don’t they?’ 

‘Yeah, and so did you, you're safely in the time frame of it not being weird.’ 

‘Thank God,’ Isabel said darkly. ‘What about you?’ 

‘Oh, I was five. I don’t remember it that clearly, but my older sister found me in the vineyard and the vines were moving to create an arch over me as I walked.’ 

The other girls sighed in gentle awe. ‘That sounds so beautiful,’ said Jeanette.

‘It’s how I wish my story was,’ agreed Isabel. ‘What about you, Zelle? It must have been exciting for you, as a muggleborn.’ 

Hazel did not say anything for a moment. She could remember, very clearly, her mother gripping her shoulders, saying firmly but sympathetically into her face, ‘it’s not your fault, and you shouldn’t be ashamed, but it’s best never to tell anyone about this.’

In the grounds of Beauxbatons there was only the tinkling of the fountains, the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze, and the group of boys nearby jeering at one another. In Hazel’s head, there was the echoing sound of footsteps on metal stairs, a bellowing shout, a deafening, roaring crash. She swallowed.

‘I don’t remember,’ she said. ‘I must have been very young.’ 

'Urgh!' exclaimed Jeanette, sparing Hazel from further questions, 'what on earth is that dress? Luna Scamander - who's that? What can she have been thinking?'

***

Many years later, James and Hazel lounged under warm sun. They had been surprised that the beach was so empty, given how beautiful it was, just a small family on the other side of the little bay, and a tiny cafe on stilts over the waters edge, on the decking of which sat two old men, smoking and drinking coffee. He and Hazel reclined with their backs against a sand dune, still in swimsuits after a long afternoon of swimming.

The waves lapped at the shore with soothing rhythm. Grains of the fine, pale yellow sand clung to Hazel’s tanned legs and James gazed at them as one would a work of art. Their conversations meandered lazily, stretching through the golden evening before they would return to their hotel. 

‘When I was nearly one,’ he told her, 'my parents took me down to the beach - not far from the house. It’s mostly cliffs round there, but there’s a little beach when the tide’s out. Mum sat me down and I immediately started shoving fistfuls of sand into my mouth - Dad was trying to get it out of my mouth, but as he was pulling it out it was custard. It was turning to custard in my mouth.’ 

She burst out laughing, and he grinned out at the hazy horizon. The bright blue sky had long softened into shades of pink and dusky orange. Soon stars would be scattered above them. 

'That's amazing magic,' she said admiringly. 'And so young too. Was that when you first displayed it?' 

'Yeah, it was.'

'That's impressively young.'

He snorted. 'Well I think so, but don't ever say that in front of Mum. Her and Dad, but her in particular, are firmly of the opinion that it doesn't matter what age you show magic, it doesn't correlate to power at all, just some kids develop at different speeds. Lily was a late bloomer,' he added by way of explanation. 

She frowned slightly, and looked out at the horizon, as though a memory was stirring. 'I think I've heard about that before…' 

'Yeah it got leaked to the press somehow - it was always a constant battle for them to keep stuff about us out of the papers. But they were always speculating about Lily being a squib and, I dunno how but they found out when she did display magic and then plastered it all over the place, which only confirmed how late it was. But it really does make no difference,' he said, more firmly than he intended. 'I mean, she's the one who's become a healer, isn't she? Dad always says she was just saving it all up to really impress us.'

'What did she do in the end?' 

He rolled his eyes and shook his head slightly. 'Showed us all up and nearly made Dad cry, that's what. A really stupid robin flew straight into the window - massive thump.' He slapped the sand in demonstration, and in his mind's eye could remember them all, the way both his parents had startled and gone pale at the sound, both of them drawing their wands, then the moment of frozen silence around the breakfast table. 

'Dad went out and found it on the ground - course, he thought it was dead but by then we'd all followed him out-'

He recalled then that he had drawn his own wand, naively believing that if it was something sinister his father would need his help. He decided not to tell Hazel this. 

'-So dad picked it up and realised it wasn't quite dead yet, but nearly - broken wings and all that, you know. He told us "it's just a bird, go back in" but you know what Lily's like - burst into tears and asked him to help it.' 

'Aw, I bet she did,' said Hazel affectionately. 

'Dad reckoned he was going to have to put it out of its misery but Lily wanted to see it, so he held it out to her and was explaining it would be kinder to let it die, and then she just reached out and stroked it. It just… sang, and then fluttered away.’ 

‘That’s amazing.’ 

‘It was - it was a really cold morning but for a moment it was really warm. Pretty amazing magic. No wonder she ended up so good at healing magic - I don’t think she’s ever managed to do it again just by touch though.’ 

‘What about Al? When did he show magic?’

‘Oh, he was having a temper tantrum as a toddler and all the lights blew out,’ James said. He had only vague memories of it. ‘He was always someone with a lot of emotional magic, I think - when he felt overwhelmed. Usually calmed down pretty quickly after, though.’ 

‘I wonder if it says things about us, or whether we just project onto it in hindsight?’ Hazel said vaguely. He glanced at her, and saw that she was gazing out at the setting sun. The warm light was beautiful on her face. It was such a curious, poignant question, and that was one of the many things he loved about her - how she asked things he would never have thought to wonder about. 

‘Well, what about you?’ he asked. ‘What’s your first magic story?’ 

She did not look at him, or move, except for her eyes which suddenly looked down from the horizon and became slightly glazed. Time had felt suspended the entire afternoon - if it hadn’t been for the shifting colours of the sky they might not have noticed time passing at all. But now it seemed more frozen than ever, just the hush of the waves counting out long seconds as she seemed to consider. 

‘It’s not a nice story like all of yours,’ she said at last. ‘And I’m glad your Mum thinks it doesn’t make a difference, because I was nearly nine.’ She sounded quite calm, and at once James knew what she was about to say, what he had long suspected might have happened to her, though he had never assumed it had been in childhood. 

‘It was raining,’ she said, still perfectly calm, her voice a little distant. ‘A really miserable, grey day. We lived in an ex-council house - the estate was like a horseshoe around a little park. Me and my brother and my sisters wanted to go out and play, but Mum wouldn’t let us because of the weather. The weather just made it more exciting for me. I snuck out when she wasn’t looking - played at being an explorer in the rainforest, seeking shelter. Hid in the little tunnel between the slide and the monkey bars.’

He let her speak without interruption. He could imagine her in miniature, in a raincoat with the hood up, perhaps, talking quietly to herself as she played in the way that children do, the pattering of the rain on the metal of the play equipment, the saturation of colour that such grey days caused. 

‘I knew him,’ she continued. ‘It wasn’t like he was a stranger. He lived a few doors down and his mum watched us sometimes. He was a few years older. I remember him as a grown up, but Mum says he wasn’t, says he was a kid himself. He was probably a teenager. I don’t know. Anyway… he spotted me playing alone and told me to come out of the rain. Told me I was pretty. I was used to him, we always watched telly together. So I did, I followed him.

‘It was Dad that found us. Beneath the stairs of a fire escape. The whole family had been out looking for me. He found me because he looked at the ground and in the puddles there were golden footprints. He followed them, and found us. He attacked the boy when he saw.' 

Darkness was beginning to press down upon the sky, the strongest stars beginning to emerge. 'That's why you moved to Portugal,' he said quietly. 

'Yes. Dad wanted to take us back to his home country for years but Mum had always said no. This time it was her that suggested it. They weren't very happy when I moved back here, but I was an adult by then.' 

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I'm sorry that happened to you.' 

'So am I,' she said. 'I wish it hadn't. And it didn't make me stronger or any of that sort of thing people say. I’m not even sure that really was the first time I showed magic- sometimes I think I can remember other times but it’s hard to know if it was childish imagination or not, and it was never anything spectacular. But I found happiness again, despite what happened, and I learnt not to let it define me.' 

‘What happened to him?’ 

‘Oh, he did end up in prison later, apparently,’ she said lightly. ‘Or something like it. But it took a very long time because of course they didn’t take Dad’s story seriously.’ She paused. ‘I’m sorry, this wasn’t the time or the place.’ 

He disagreed with her, but understood what she meant. It was strange, to sit in this little paradise of theirs, the sand warm beneath them and the now cooler breeze skimming off the sea and across their bare skin, to discuss it now. He had long suspected that there might be some story like this in her past. So many women did have stories like that, and he hadn’t believed her, not for a second, that her boggart, the pock-marked, capped young man, had merely been a bully she had once known. There had always been something, as well, about her stark discomfort with certain turns of phrase or lewd attention from other men. At times he had wondered if he should ask - nicely, reassuringly - but it never felt like something he had a right to know. And how were you meant to ask about something like that anyway? He had decided some time ago that it was all right not to know everything about her, but if she did tell him, he had always imagined it… where? He wasn’t sure. There was no perfect time or place to discover the pain someone you loved had gone through. 

He shifted slightly in the sand, let her curve against him, and rest her head on his shoulder. ‘This is where you felt safest to tell me,’ he suggested. ‘That’s all right. I’m sorry I brought it up.’

‘You didn’t. Anyway, I’m glad you know now. I’ve never had anyone to tell.’

Ancient starlight fell down upon them as the sun finally sank away. The breeze was cool now, almost cold, but they were comfortable in it, resting against one another. 

‘I suppose,’ she said after a long pause, ‘that it will have changed me, and the way I do things. Left a mark. But honestly I’ve never been much interested in figuring out what, or why, beyond the obvious. Because who's to say what I’d have been like without it? We’ll never know, so perhaps I’m happier just figuring out who I am now.’

‘My dad says it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live,’ James told her. ‘I always said he sounded like a pretentious arsehole when he said it, but I suppose if anyone knows about wondering how things would be if it had been different, it’s him.’

She laughed gently, and he hadn’t intended to make her laugh, but he was glad that she could, in a conversation like this. 

‘Yes, I think that’s a more elegant way of putting it.’

‘You’re really brave,’ he said honestly. Her calmness, openness, and willingness to trust him impressed him more than anything else he had seen. ‘I knew you were already, obviously, but you have such a rare kind of bravery too. Thank you for telling me. And, for the record, that really is extraordinary accidental magic you did.’ 

‘I like to think so. I just remember people talking about first magic at school and realising how late it was that I displayed it. I decided that it didn’t matter, not when it rescued me like that. And after that… Dad was so thankful for it, he encouraged me so much even though we didn’t understand til later. And then the letters came in. From Hogwarts because that’s where I had first shown it, from Beauxbatons because I was on the continent by then, and from Castelobruxo because I spoke Portuguese.’ 

‘You told me before they didn’t want you going back to Britain. How were they when you joined the Ministry?’ 

‘Not thrilled,’ she said wryly. ‘But I understand why. It was hard for them, traumatising for them as well. But they know how much I wanted to study under the British Auror programme - under your Dad - and I think they also know that despite it all… despite how much I love Portugal and France, I missed parts of Britain too. It wasn’t a miserable childhood, it was a very happy one, up until then. Mum understands - she missed it too. Both of us missed having Nana so close by, and that’s been a wonderful part about coming back, seeing her so often.’

‘Yes, I can imagine your granny being quite a big loss,’ said James, grinning with amusement. 

‘We all pretend she doesn’t know I’m magic,’ said Hazel, though James knew this already. 

Their conversation drifted with ease into happier things, reminiscing about better parts of her childhood, suspicions of things she had lost being found in bizarre circumstances being magically summoned, learning swear words from her nana, her and her siblings moving from British town living to running wild through the Douro valley. 

‘Is it Britain forever for you now?’ he asked. The horizon was no longer visible; the whites of the waves fringed a gradual blackness that merged into stars. ‘Or would you want to move back to Portugal one day?’ 

‘I don’t know,’ she said, slightly surprised sounding. ‘I suppose it depends on what you wanted.’ 

‘I’d follow you anywhere,’ he said. He meant it. All notions of what he felt his future should be were long gone. They had been replaced one Christmas with her, entirely.


End file.
